


Crown of Fury

by Nightbirdsong



Series: Kingdom of Yongnian [3]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Dragons, Fantasy AU, I said dragons, Kingdom of Yongnian, M/M, Yes you read that right, You could say that - Freeform, continuation of my other projects, mentions of incest but not really?, some closure of stories I needed for my soul, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2018-12-15 20:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 43,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11813514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightbirdsong/pseuds/Nightbirdsong
Summary: People pray for fire. To bring life and warmth. But they don't know that they are praying for destruction, for pain.And while other people might pray for mundane things, the only thing Luhan prays for at night is to save his brothers.One way or the other.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I lost my muse completely for half a year and now I just needed to write this. This part of the Kingdom of Yongnian series has been burning under my nails for SO long I just NEEDED it to get out of my system because I felt like it's been clogging my brain up.  
> This first chapter is nothing but a short prologue though, a taste of what this story is going to be like. And yes, it's kinda short and not beta-ed and I feel like I need to get into touch with my writing, but cut me some slack I've been so busy lately. Eternally sobbing  
> If you enjoyed this, please subscribe to my channel - oh wait no. If you liked this, leave some kudos or comments, I really REALLY love to hear my readers thoughts about stuff and y'all should know that some writers I know desperately need the comments to keep them writing.  
> Thanks for reading and welcome back to the Kingdom

  
  
  


People wish for light. They pray for fire, for the lords of the heavens to send them warmth and prosperity through the holy flames of life – but fire is nothing but death.

Fire.

It roars above his head, licking across black stones and blue Dragonglass, cracking the windows of the chamber open, a gust of wind whirling through the flames and making them flicker across his naked arms. He sits there, holding on to to the body in his arms, silently weeping into long, black hair that always curled at the ends like tiny flowers, glittering with ice. Her blood soaked dress is already burning, the hungry fire eating away at her rich, silken garments. One of her shoes is missing, the tiny white slipper lost by the door where the wood is still littering the floor, thrown across the stone tiles under the blow of a mighty chop.  He sits there while the room around him burns bright, orange and red and white, heat sizzling on his skin like meat on top of a stove. Another window cracks, the wooden beams in the ceiling catch fire, the bed breaks under the force of the blaze, the fabric catching fire with an inhuman screech. It sounds like a storm rolling across the Thunder Sea at night, the screaming of beasts hidden from sight. A whirlwind of destruction, that takes away beloved memories and plucking moments from the waking world like a child plucks flowers out of a field of grass. But not to cradle them, or carry them home to a loving mother. Fire takes nothing to a beloved one. It only swallows and destroys, devouring everything in it's path. He swallows, tastes smoke on his tongue, the taste of his past going up into a blaze and leaving behind nothing but stale ashes.

Smoke.

It clouds his vision, makes his eyes water and his lungs burn just like the chamber around him, wetness seeping through his fingers where he is holding her against his chest, arms wrapped tightly around her as if he can protect her from any danger in the world, just by holding her like this – like he always did when she was reading stories to him out of those old, dusty books she adored so much. But where are those stories now? Where are the books filled with heroes and glory and sunlight? No happy endings here, he thinks while his eyes take in the room, the burning, the light, the life that is left now – smoldering bones, wooden beams that seem like his bones. Bare, blackened, smoking. So are her books. The books she had asked from him, when ever he left her to ride into battle. Bring me a book, she would say, smiling sweetly down at him from the stairs of his castle, a child cradled against her hip, tiny fingers playing with her long hair, braiding it in an absent minded manner. And he did. He brought her all those things she asked for. Books, flasks of scented water, golden and silver flowers from other lands – far away realms she could never see with her own eyes, bound to the Ice Reach like the Queen of Frost she truly was.

Beauty. Downfall.

His tears are soaking her hair, making it stick wet and dirty to his cheeks and his hand finds hers where it's resting against the slight, tiny bump underneath her heart, the swell of her body where life was still growing just minutes before. The other body by the door is slowly catching fire now too, armor melting away under the rage of the flames screaming around them.

Screaming.

They are screaming everywhere.  In panic, in agony and fear, the castle around him creaking and moaning, eaten up by anger.  It's hatred. Hatred that flickers through him hot like embers, like liquid that fills up his veins. Her breathing stopped minutes ago, her head resting slack against his shoulder, her lips still open with the last words she tried to speak, begging him to save their children. Their daughters. He doesn't know if he can fulfill this promise to her now, rendered speechless and in shock over her loss.  There is only one love for his kind.  Their biggest weakness – an open spot right across their hearts as if they are  _ begging _ their enemies to just ram a knife into their flesh and cut their guts out, showing their intestines to them as they cackle in glee and he and his kind can do nothing about it. But isn't that the beauty of it all? A terrifying beauty, yes. But only one love, only one possible life with someone by their sides. Or a life lived in desolation... because their hearts were beating only for one person. And they would, forever. She had always loved those stories. The thought of him never looking at another woman, the way he looked at her. So full of love, she always teased him with that lilting voice of hers.  The accent he had never been able to place so prominent in those words while her eyes shone like a crystal moon above his beloved mountains.  He lost her. His will to live.

His will to fight.

What is there left to fight for now?  
“ Yifan.”, she always whispered at him from across the bed, her elegant fingers stroking over her belly, as if she was caressing the spark of life inside of her, so much affection in her eyes.  
“ Yongnian should be the reason you fight. Not us. Your Kingdom and brothers. Yongnian is built in the shoulders of you and the Lords. It needs your strength.”  
But it was never like that. Each battle he fought, each victory he brought home... he did it all for her. Laying a Kingdom down at her feet from the moment he first laid eyes on her all those years ago in the Barren Hills. His mistress, his goddess. She was so beautiful back then and even now, in death, she is still the most beautiful thing he has ever laid eyes on.  
They are still screaming.  
Somewhere he hears a voice begging for mercy, young and still childlike, soft in the terror of the night. His blood boils in his veins, the last promise he made burning on his tongue.  
Before he goes, he kisses her one last time, lips tasting a touch blood as he gets up from the floor.  
His castle is burning.  
But flames never scared him.  
His people pray for them, every single night. And none of them knows, why. What they pray for, what they ask their Gods to bring to them. And while they were smart enough to strap him down to his burning chamber, his dying wife left in his arms to shackle him, they weren't smart  _ enough.  _ His fingers close around the glowing hilt of the murderers sword, pulling it from the rubble of their bed, the hilt feeling like a branding iron in his grasp. It's a weight that is familiar to him.  How many years has he spent carrying a sword? How many lives could he fill with those years he took from his enemies, slaying them without even a thought about mercy.  There are no heroes on a battlefield. That's what his brother always says. No heroes, no glory – just death and devastation. And yet... yet he lived for it. Asked for it, needed it. To keep the fire at bay. Raging inside of him, just waiting to break free. Every single ride into war, was like coming alive.  
Being reborn and returning over and over again to his family, that he adored so much.  Maybe he wasn't honest with her. But maybe she already knew.  
For she was the one begging him to end those fights. To never ride again, even if he had been the one demanding war from his brother the King, when they all believed the Dune had tried to take off their very head. The head of their nation. He had been the one roaring for blood, as had been the Red Lord. Should have listened to Lu Han.  
War had never been the answer to his search, to his asking, to his longing. But humans only realize what they have, the moment they lose it. Oh, how happy I used to be, they will say.  
His happiness lies slain in her own blood and the blood of their unborn child, there on the ground.  And when he turns to leave, knowing he has no choice but to follow her orders and fulfill his promise, he swears that those flames will eat the memories of her. Until there is nothing left of him and her inside his mind, his heart. Until he is nothing but a skeleton walking among men.  
The corridor behind their broken door is alight with flames too, the ceiling already sinking in underneath the weight of it all, beams cracking and breaking open like eggs, spilling glowing sparks and embers on his head as he passes underneath, marking his skin with red.  His feet are naked, stepping over fallen bodies and splinters of wood.

He can hear them fighting down at the base of the staircase, the familiar voices of his Guard mixing with the roaring of the fire around him.  
“ To the Lord!”, Kyungsoos voice is loud across it all, strong as ever. “Push them back to the courtyard! Move! Move!”  
He can't help but let his lips stretch into a grim smile.  A wise choice, indeed. Kyungsoo was always the only one fit to have the command over the Black Guard. Always by his side, always the voice of reason Yifan needed when the fire in his veins blinded him, made him lust for blood and the death that always seemed to cling to him like a second skin. All of them were born for nothing else, Lu Han once said and only now does Yifan understands what his older brother meant by it all.  Always so noble, always so composed even when they still call him the God of Death.  
But they are wrong.  
Lu Han might have been born the Golden Lord in a stream of blood, bringing darkness to his own mother with the very first breath he took, a blue tiny baby in the arms of a wet nurse.  
No one would ever doubt the fact, that Lu Han was born for this. For war. Slayer of armies and bringer of light. He is not the one who brings death, though.  
Nothing can like the children of the North.  When he finally emerges from the remainders of the curtain that obscures the staircase leading up into the royal tower, his Guard is already there, as if they felt him coming towards them.  They surround him like an armor, closing in around him, a shield thrust into his hand. It brings back the feeling of being alive, as if it warms his limbs, ripping away the lingering decease that was already gripping him from the moment he saw a sword slice through his wifes chest, cutting her down.  
Kyungsoo is by his side in an instant, his small form bumping into Yifan from the side and their eyes meet. There is a different kind of fire burning deep in the depths of his Commanders eyes, a glow so ancient it never fails to make Yifan shudder. The curse of Ice Reach and the Barren Hills.  
A knowledge so old, only few are willing to explore it. Most of who are born with it, decide to let it go, just to keep themselves safe and sound, without the cruel reality they are able to see behind the veil. Not all of them can see it though. Only few are born with the gift of sight, this  _ feeling  _ that makes you jump from your bed in the middle of the night, haunted by images you can never forget even when you're awake.  
He himself feels the burning echo in his head, eyes flashing bright and Kyungsoo smiles at him, grim and filled with anger, his cheeks smeared with ashes and blood. His own, Yifan realizes then, the side of Kyungsoos neck cut open and spilling blood across his white nightshirt, soaking the fabric. The cut isn't deep, but it's enough to paint the small Commander the perfect picture of destruction, his lips split and bitten and bruises blooming across his white face.  
“ My Lord.”, Kyungsoo whispers and they move, like their bodies are made of one.  
The castle is empty, no living soul left in the inferno to fight, no single servant, no member of the royal family, no enemy. And as they emerge from the flames, bursting into the courtyard that is covered in snow and blood, boots mashing it all into mud, the tower above them collapses under the force of the fire. It buries his wife, Yifan thinks. A fitting end for the Queen of Ice Reach.  
Gone with fire.  
“ Yifan.”, he hears Kyungsoos voice, but it's already too late. His body won't move, his naked feet stuck in the snow, his mind still sluggish with the loss of his loved one, his weakness, his fear.  
There, by the gate he stands, a serene smile on his face, untouched by any dirt or blemish, too beautiful to be part of the world Yifan knows. And as their eyes meet, he sees the other speak, his bowed lips shaping soft words, the blade of a knife held against the throat of a child.

“ Reveal yourself. God among men.”

The knife slices deep into his daughters throat, splitting it open and Yifan doesn't even hear himself scream. He feels it, deep in his soul, the sound of agony that rips itself free from his chest.  
“ No!”, his Commander screams and even as the Black Guard surges forward, Yifan can't think.  
He only moves.  
His shield hits the ground like the body of his daughter does, the man grinning at him over the bloody massacre that blooms in the middle of Yifans courtyard, his Guard cutting through the enemies like a hot blade through flesh.  
" Kill me!”, the man taunts him and Yifan breaks free from the formation of his men, Kyungsoos hand ripping at his shirt in vain. He is still screaming as he throws himself forward, sword raised high, ready to cut the mans head off his shoulders in one clean swipe.

It never lands.

The mans hand suddenly opens, the knife falling from his fingers and he barks out a single word, powerful enough to make Yifans bones shake in his body, like someone struck him across the face with a whip.

Fire.

It races across his skin, swallowing him whole.

Fire never scared him. It only made him feel more alive than ever. But now his soul is burning, his veins are boiling, his head is filled with it. His skin bursts open as he is consumed by his hatred.

He roars.

  
  
  


Sehun awakes with a scream.


	2. Wings of Innocence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter starts off on a light note. A quick warning though, it's not going to be like this for the entire story. You might get an idea at the end of this chapter, but I thought maybe warn people before they expect a fluffy fantasy AU ehem.   
> It's not that long, but I wanted to end it on that scene, simply because I can. You might need to read both "a candle in the night" and "vitreous king" to fully understand what is going on and why I am tying up loose ends of stories with this one. Shameless advertising is shameless.   
> Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Wings of innocence

  
  


Red River Fall lies in the midst of soft falling hills and rich fields of flowers, so different from what people could expect if they know the gruesome origins of the rivers name, that feeds the land surrounding it with life. Death is what gave this river its name, what gave the city its name where the Red Lord resides - and in the end it gives the Lord himself the name he wears, always proud.   
The people here pride themselves to be the last stronghold at the border, a folk that is hard as the sandstone their houses are built of, strong as the hot winds the desert brings and as beautiful as the flowers that grow surrounding the city, endless and spanning towards the horizon.  They live like the river, swelling with the rains in the North, bringing destruction and life at the same time, ancient and serene, glittering in the sun.  And the women here are fierce, wearing hard leather pants while they race each other across the little bridges that span over the rivers little arms, hands above their heads and screaming into the light of the setting sun, their bright hair orange in the sun like flames. There is always a childlike wonder to these people. A feeling of questioning life.   
Like nothing makes sense to them until they’ve seen it with their own eyes. They don’t worship the Gods like the people of Silver Haven do, don’t have temples of churches and if they pray, they thank each other, not any celestial being that might be watching over them - and who they have never seen with their own eyes. They do believe, the Red Lord once said with a smile. Oh, they do. But they believe in themselves more, in the strength of their muscles and their swords and hard work, the sweat and tears they pour into their fields and the burning furnaces of their blacksmiths.  
Never before has he seen such honest people, so content with their lives and with the things they have. They are so different from the people living in Silver Haven that he stares at them in confusion whenever they meet him with kindness where he shies away from their gentle words and bright greetings. None of them stare at them, not even the children, nobody points a finger at him.   
And while each and every single one of them knows who he is and who is going to be soon, nobody treats him different. They bow their heads as he passes, slip him apples he doesn’t pay for, smile at him while he crosses the market that frames the narrow main road on both sides.   
And the city itself is beautiful, so bright and white, full of flowers and a plethora of colors. It’s too much for him to take in at first, so terribly different from the place where he grew up.   
Silver Haven might be a beautiful city too, but Red River Falls is breathtaking in it’s own way.  Every window is lined with flowers, each house adorned with blinds in different colors, the streets spanned with parasols made of long flowing lengths of fabric, painting the cobblestone underneath with more and more colors.   
  
He feels like he is going blind from the sun, the light, the hues of blue and red and yellow.   
His mind is always reeling, always discovering so many things and he feels exhausted after only a couple of hours exploring the city beneath the castle that thrones atop it all. An arrangement of towers, nothing more. High above it all, like a guarding watching the people of these lands.  Everything here seems to be… stunning.   
And so is  _ she,  _ the woman who could be a queen, ruling over Red River Falls. But oh, she is not.  Her hands are rough where they run over his face, gentle. Her fingernails are cut short, dirt clinging to the space underneath. And her skin is tanned, her eyes lined with little creases, deep lines around her mouth from the way she smiles with too many teeth. She’s just like him.   
The same bright hair, the same eyes and smile. For a woman so slender, her voice is surprisingly deep, her limbs almost lanky but full of grace and he catches himself being envious of her when he nearly knocks over the goblet of wine she filled for him to calm his nerves.  He is anything but graceful, compared to her.   
“What is on your mind, child?”, she rumbles while smoothing down his hair and pinning it away from his face with golden pins, tucking the strands of his bangs away from his eyes and underneath the silver crown of leaves that sits delicately on the top of his head.  “Your face betrays your emotions yet again, little boy. You are truly not born of high blood.”   
He feels his cheeks grow hot under her gaze, under the scrutiny of it. Shaking his head he meets her eyes through the mirror, her gentle look softening even more as the edges of her full lips lift in a tiny smile. Barely there and yet softening her features. A look only a mother can have.   
“I am not worried.”, he replies silently, fingertips tracing the edge of the goblet that now rests on his upper thigh, held tight between his fingers. “I was never so sure of anything.”  
“I wouldn’t dare doubt that.”, she smiles and bends down to place a kiss to his hair, right in the center of the crown. It suits the color of his hair, soft brown like chocolate, growing lighter each day he spends here in the sun. His skin looks healthy, a glow to it he didn’t know he could possess and yet… while he looks into the mirror, all he sees are his scars, enhanced with the darker color of his skin.   
“Baekhyun.”, comes Mothers gentle voice from the chaise lounge by the window and he turns his head to look at her, as does the woman behind him. Both of them are mothers in a certain way and there is this deep understanding that passes between them, that completely escapes him.   
“You look beautiful.”  
The words make his eyelashes flutter, a burning rising in his eyes and only the other womans words prevent him from crying, as she laughs rough and loud: “Of course he does. How could he not, if I was the one who dressed him and did his hair? I’ve been doing a boys hair since it was long enough to be done. Did you doubt my abilities, dear sister of the East?”   
“Of course not.”, Mother smiles, but her eyes never leave him where he is sitting in front of her vanity. “But a perfect canvas can’t be ruined even by the touch of a amateur.”  
While any other woman - especially the ones in Silver Haven - might have been offended by Mothers words, the Grace of Red River only laughs louder, shaking her head and making her bright blond hair fly around her face wildly.   
“I will never grow tired of your sharp tongue, my sister.”   
“I hope so.”, Mother grins and for a moment Baekhyun gets a flash of the woman she might have been once, young and full of mirth, black hair framing her own face delicately. “We will be stuck together for a long time after this day passes, Yoora.”  
The way Mother says her name has Baekhyun lifting his eyebrows at the woman who raised him, who only gives him one of those looks that have her eyes shining with joy, her whole face a mask of amusement.   
“And so do I hope.”, Yoora nods, still grinning. Her hands rest on Baekhyuns shoulders, squeezing gently and he thinks that maybe he never felt so at home anywhere in the world than in this room, surrounded by these two women - one who saved his life more than once and the one who gave birth to the Red Lord. Mothers.  
“You know.”, Yoora starts then, softer, and her eyes find Baekhyuns in the mirror. “Many women claim girls or boys to be lucky to have their sons, but I have to admit that my son is the one who should be thankful. As I am thankful that he was born as stubborn as I am. If he hadn’t been, I would have never met you, lovely boy.”   
“It’s…. He wasn’t really stubborn.”, Baekhyun mutters, quickly averting his eyes as his cheeks flame under the praise, his fingers tightening around his goblet.   
“I bet.”, Yoora chuckles and smoother her hand over his cheek. “He was probably a pest.”  
And he could tell the Grace of Red River Falls all the things her son is, but today is not the time for that. Today, he thinks while looking back into the mirror, at the way his hair curls softly into his forehead, how the silver crown sits on his head as if it belongs there - today, his thoughts about the Red Lord belongs to him and him only. 

 

The only cathedral in Red River Falls looks tiny from the high window of his tower, adorned with banners of red and white, tiny people swarming towards it like the stream of the river that feeds them all. He stands there, hands on the sill of his window, drumming impatiently, while the room behind him bustles with life, only to fall silent as if someone blocked out all the sounds, as if the world behind him has suddenly stopped. For a moment he revels in the silence, all rushing absent, leaving him alone with the frantic beating of his heart and he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes as if he can will time to go faster just by wishing for it.  He waited for this day to come ever since he brought Baekhyun to Red River Falls, ever since he returned from the gruesome war he barely made it out alive of, paying the highest price a man in his position can pay for the war of someone else. Even though he was one of the men screaming for it, demanding it, begging his brother to let him fight… he knows that he should have stayed. He should have stayed in Silver Haven, should have been there when his brother lost his mind, when the one Chanyeol loved more than anyone was breaking with the though of him being gone forever.  
He wishes he could have silence like this for the rest of the day, until he steps food into the cathedral to do what he should have done so long ago. Two years ago.   
But the silence stretches and he turns, confused, to see what has his servants unmoving, finding them all bowed deeply and their heads lowered, some of them even crouched low in formal curtsy.   
At the door stands a man, clad in silver and white, black hair tussled by wind and curling wildly on his head, eyes bright and face burned from the harsh sun of the west, evidence of a weeks ride in the unforgiving sun. He looks small in the door and yet he seems to fill it completely, a presence almost like an aura of power. It’s not him, Chanyeols eyes find though, not the curling smile of a fox, not the golden ring around the mans forehead, or the elegant silver sword by his side.   
He knows this man, but the shock of bright white hair that hovers just above the mans shoulder seems to draw his attention like a flame in the night, a candle someone placed in a window in the darkest of nights. The crown of white crystals framed by gold glitters in the sun that falls through the glass ceiling of Chanyeols chambers, throwing little lights across the walls as the Commander of the White Guard steps aside, bowing his head at Chanyeol in a form of acknowledgement, hand reaching out to brush across the wrist of the King waiting behind him.   
When Minseok steps into the room, it’s almost as if all the air is sucked from the chambers, a ever burning flame that demands all attention, has the servants shifting where they stand, chancing glimpses at the Touched Kind as they call him.  His brothers two colored eyes take in the room swiftly, looking at each of the servants before they land on Chanyeol and shiver runs down the Red Lords spine, as if someone ran fingers over the side of his neck, making him shudder. What ever happened to his brother in the time Chanyeol was at war, no one could ever put into words, how it changed him. There is this gentle look in his face, but it seems distant, cold as ice. Chanyeol knows that his brother is still the same, but as soon as he wears the crown, as soon as he is the White Lord anymore but their King - Something changes in him. 

“Give us a moment of privacy.”, the Kind demands and while his voice is as tender as the voice of a father who speaks to his children, it is still a demand. The servants rush to obey and Chanyeol watches as each of them hurries away, bowing to the King on their way out, who stands there with his hands folded in front of him, nodding his head at each of them as if they are old friends passing on the street.   
He watches it all, almost in awe and he only realizes his mouth is hanging open, when his brother turns and gives him an almost mischiouvous look, tapping his index finger against his own bottom lip.   
“Hello, brother.”, Minseok then says and his voice is full of life, full of affection. It has Chanyeols throat clogging up and he barely catches himself from rushing forward to embrace his older brother, who slowly sinks into one of the cushioned chairs scattered around Chanyeols chambers.  
It’s Baekhyuns favorite chair, Chanyeol thinks as he watches the King arrange the white cloak he wears across his knee so it’s covering his lap.   
And with this simple motion, this plain chair in which Baekhyun likes to curl up reading a book while Chanyeol sits by the fire and listens to his gentle voice, becomes the throne of a King.   
Minseoks fingers are scarred, skin pink and raw around his nails, still a litlte bony when he reaches up to take the crown from his head, placing it in the folds of his cloak and Chanyeol follows the motion of his fingers, studying the new crown the King of Yongnian ordered to make for himself.  It’s simple, nearly. White crystals, long and tapered into sharp looking tips, held together by golden wires, cased by intricate designs of each of their signets in the front, a small sapphire shaped like a snow flake in the middle of it, normally sitting right above his forehead.   
“You arrived early.”, Chanyeol smiles and Minseok inclines his head slightly, absentmindedly running his fingers along the edges of his crown as if his body is used to the motion, as if he did it for months. Jongdae, who closed the door while their King settled into the chair, suddenly appears in Chanyeols field of vision, crouching down by the side of the throne Minseok chose for himself, his hand settling on Minseoks and the King blinks, looks stunned for a couple of seconds as if he was lost in thought while looking up at his younger brother by the window.   
Like a shadow that races across his face, the King presses his lips and eyes shut momentarily, then opening them again only for a bright smile to take over his features, a playful hint to his words as he says: “How could I not arrive early if my dear Confidant rushed me here on my very own horse? Here I am, King and still Jongdae tells me what to do.”  
  
It’s a playful jab, well-nigh lovers quarrel and Jondae snorts, turning his head away to hide his laughter behind a hand. Chanyeol only shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he turns away to look back at the cathedral in the distance.  “You seem like you can barely wait for the moment.”, Minseok observes from his chair and Chanyeol hears him move, the sound of something hard being placed on the round table next to the chair loud in the room. He doesn’t hear his brother move and yet he doesn’t even flinch when the smaller man steps up to the windowsill next to him, their arms brushing.   
“I heard your mother wants to officiate.”, he mutters then, eyes traveling over the city. “But you never formally asked me for my blessings for this, Chanyeol. As a Lord, you should know better than this.”  
The words are like a knife between his ribs and the Red Lord turns his head slightly to look down at the King by his side, at the way his white hair sways in the warm summer breeze that rushes up the tower. Minseok doesn’t look at him, only stares out into the distance and if it weren’t for the white of hair and the blue of his eye, he would look like he did three years ago, too young to inherit the crown, still too young to carry this weight.   
“Are you here to stop me?”, Chanyeol whispers, nearly breaking under it. If his King forbids it, his word will be law. And against the law, even the Red Lord is powerless.   
“Will you listen to me, if I say I am?”, Minseok asks and their eyes meet, blue and brown sparkling bright in the sunlight. Chanyeol swallows, wills down the need to argue, already dreading his brothers next answer, the moment he will need to explain to his people and Baekhyun that there will be nothing they can do about it, if they do not want to anger their ruler.   
“If my King demands, I will.”, he nods slowly and Minseok smiles softly, closing his eyes as he shakes his head. He breaks away from the window, walks back into the room and pours himself a goblet of water, taking a delicate sip while his fingers play with the stem of it, licking stray wetness from his upper lip. He takes his time to wander around the chambers then, Chanyeols eyes on him as he traces the books Baekhyun dragged into the room from the library tower, the bed, the pair of smaller boots by the door. It is so evident that Chanyeol and the former rent boy haven’t spent a single night apart since they arrived in Red River Falls, he almost expects his brother to scold him, but all Minseok does is hum under his breath. When the King speaks then, it’s silently, barely audible and there is almost no reprimant in his tone, just slightly.   
“As your King, I have to discountenance your involvement with a whore, Red Lord. As the ruler of Yongnian I have to fear for the reputation of our realm if one of my Warlords marries a servant, a useless rent boy he picked from the street. I have to dispraise you letting him sleep in your chambers and not giving him his own, because it means I can not justify your actions as simply employing him for the pleasues of the flesh.” He takes a pause, another sip from his goblet and then turns to look at the Red Lord, who stands frozen, the pain of his brothers words written on his face, in the way he clenches his fists on the windowsill. The King smiles, sadly so, before he continues his journey through the room, only to stop where his Commander sits on the chair Minseoks was sitting in minutes before, settling into the mans lap like it’s the most normal thing for him to do, one arm draping across his Confidants shoulders, his side leaning heavily into the mans chest.   
“And as your brother I have to tell you that you should follow your heart, that you should love who ever you want to love. And yet… I still have to remind you who you are, don’t I? Even as your brother and even without a crown on my head, I still would say those things. I would ask you if you have thought about this, if your choise is the right to make.”

When Chanyeol opens his mouth to speak, Minseok lifts a hand and that hard look on his face is back, like the one he wore while still adorned by their fathers crown, cold and closed and despotically.   
“I can not agree to this.”, are his final words and Chanyeol thinks the King could as well have stabbed him in chest. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and prepares to either fight for what he wants, or let it go, like his King wants him to. But his brother is not done talking, it seems, for his mouth opens and closes again, his fingers of Jongdaes shoulders flexing. They look at each other for long heartbeats, Red Lord and King, a battle without words while Chanyeol begs his brother with only his eyes not to do this to him. To Baekhyun.   
“Minseok.”, Jongdae suddenly whispers and the Kings head turns so he can blink down at his Commander, a smile suddenly on his lips and he laughs, low and quietly. Jongdae gives him a look, both his eyebrows raised but his lips twitch and Chanyeol doesn’t understand what passes between the White Lord and his Confidant, but when Minseok turns to look at him once more, his gaze has softened. The goblet finds his way to his lips again, eyes twinkling over the edge of it.   
“I can not agree to it.”, he repeats once more, lighter, as if he is amused about a joke Chanyeol doesn’t understand. “Unless I am the one officiating it.”  
“That was cruel, Minseok.”, Jongdae scolds while Chanyeols hand clutches his heart, a sigh rushing past his lips and he mutters: “You bastard.”  
“I am pretty sure my parents were married.”, Minseok quips brightly and picks his crown up with both his hands, letting Jongdae arrange it on his head when he places it back on, the Commander clicking his tongue in a silent scold while he fixes the jewelry so the snow flake is centered.   
“You had me convinced you’re here to stop it.”, Chanyeol confesses and Minseok throws his head back, laughing loudly.   
“I would be a cruel King and brother to do such a thing.”, he shakes his head, getting up from Jongdaes lap to brush his fingers over his white bangs. “You owe it to Jongdae I didn’t write you an angry letter when I found out you didn’t even think about letting me do it. I was close to forbidding it just to have you come to Silver Haven and go through the procedure in the High Temple.”  
“I would have.”, Chanyeol says seriously and Minseok gives him a long look.   
“Your mother and my dear Confidant wouldn’t have let me hear the end of it, if I actually would have done that, Chanyeol. And you know that. I wouldn’t be this petty, if it is about the happiness of my brothers. I am not even that petty about Luhan not visiting me for an entire year.”  
Chanyeol chuckles, all tension bleeding from his shoulders that were held ramrod straight, sinking back against the windowsill behind him. “He is here already.”  
“You act as if I don’t know that already.”, Minseok waves his words aside with one hand, fixing his cloak with the other. “There is barely a thing in this Kingdom that I don’t know.”   
“If only that were true.”, Jongdae grins behind the King, but his eyes are on Chanyeol, a kind of understanding in them that is beyond the Red Lord, but still he thinks he understands what the Commander of the White Guard is trying to tell him. Because Jongdae knows what a man is willing to do for love. 

 

“You look like you are about to die.”, comes a low, rumbling voice from the door and Baekhyun jumps, whips around so fast from where he had been peeking through the door of the cathedral, the silver crown nearly slips from his hair. He barely catches it to right it, meeting the gaze of a man clad in a silver armor, who is standing by the steps leading towards the cathedral, black hair shining like oil in the sunlight. The man look young, his face soft yet sharp, his eyes a stunning shade of golden brown that has Baekhyun swallowing. He is face to face with one of the Princes, he knows, but he has never seen this one before. He saw the Golden Lord on the walls of Silver Haven on the day of the revolution, saw the King at Taeyeons trial, but this one is unfamiliar to him.  
Maybe he should be ashamed of himself to not know the Prince who is slowly stepping towards him, black crown around his forehead and contrasting starkly with his nearly white skin.   
They are his family now, after all.   
“You don’t know me.”, the Prince says with an amused smile playing around his slim lips and Baekhyun shakes his head, rendered silent. “I already expected that.”  
“What are you doing here?”, Baekhyun asks, shooting a glance back at the doors of the church and the Prince raises a slender eyebrow at him, even more amused upon his boldness.   
For a moment the man just looks at him, as if studying him and then he clicks his tongue and says:  “It is tradition for you to be lead to the officials and the Lord, is it not?”  
“Yes, but-”, Baekhyun starts, cutting himself off when it dawns on him what the Prince is telling him. “Why you?”  
“They never told you, did they?”, comes the question, sounding utterly humored by now and Baekhyun slowly shakes his head, confused. The Prince rolls his eyes, looking bored for a moment and then fixed the smaller man with a gaze once more, a small blue flame suddenly flickering in his brown eyes. It’s something that sparks a memory inside Baekhyuns mind, a night spent in a fever dream, dreaming of the angel of death who came to get him while he waited for the heat to consume him alive. Words, muttered in a language Baekhyun didn’t understand back then, a voice gentle and warm where the world around him was cold and dark.   
“I was the one who saved your life.”, the Prince smiles and Baekhyun nearly drops into a deep bow before the mans hands on his shoulders stop him, a bright laugh escaping him.  
“Chanyeol already thanked me enough, Baekhyun.”  
“And…”, Baekhyun beings, hesitantly, still not knowing the Princes name, who apparently was the one stitching him back together all those years ago. “You want to go in there with me?”  
“Why not?”, the man asks, lifting one shoulder and then grinning boyishly. “I wasn’t the one telling Chanyeol that you are the one for him, only to not play a role in all of this, right?”  
While he speaks, he is already offering his arm to Baekhyun and the smaller male is simply too stunned to object, fingers delicately wrapping around the Princes forearm, gliding over the smooth silk of his garments he wears under his chestplate and shoulder armor. They are a rich blue color, wonderfully complimenting his complexion and Baekhyun can do nothing but stare at him for endlessly dragging moments. There is something about his face that reminds him about Chanyeol, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the shape of his ears, the edge of his jaw.   
There is no doubt that the two of them are brothers, even though they seem to be polar opposites.   
This man here is soft hues of cold where Chanyeols is brightness and warmth. Light hair where this Prince is dark.   
“You are the one Chanyeol told me about…”, he breahtes out and the Prince blinks at him, eyes wide. “The one who can see things nobody else can. Sehun.”  
Silence. The other man doesn’t move, his hand settled atop of Baekhyuns own, fingers brushing over his skin. There is heat there, unnatural warmth for a humans hand and he nearly pulls his fingers away, but they are standing there, staring and seeing something that isn’t really there.   
“I am.”, the other answers slowly, but his voice isn’t right, sounds distant like an echo to Baekhyun.   
“We should go.”, Sehun then smiles, breaking the moment between them and it falls away like splintering glass, snow that rains down around them, two people who have seen things, who have seen the other side. Because Baekhyun was dead, that night, only brough back into the life under the fingers of this man. He caught a glimpse, the voice of this very man whispered into his ear that night, when he took the first shuddering breath when the fever finally let him out of its grasp.   
“We should.”, Baekhyun nods with a grin that has the scar on his cheek pulling tight and twinging, but for once he doesn’t care, knowing that in there is the a man who could never care less about his scars, about the horrible things that happened to him. They both wear their scars with pride by now. 

 

The air is cold in here, making goosebumps spring to life on his arms, nearly has him shuddering and only the warmth of Sehuns hand on his own keeps him from fidgeting as the doors open in front of them, letting them see the inside of the cathedral that is as silent as a grave.  There is no sound in there, not even a single one and Baekhyun feels like someone could shove him into the middle of a lions den and he wouldn’t feel that much under scrutiny as he is right now.   
And yet the only person turning to look at him stands at the very front of the endlessly stretching aisle in the middle of the mess hall, two colored eyes meeting his and a smile stretching on perfectly bowed lips. He breathes in, only starts walking because Sehun does and drags him along, his hands clammy and the hair in his neck rising. On each side of the aisle they stand, eyes trained on the nine tipped star that hangs in front of the brightly red window above the Kings head, who smiles at Baekhyun so brightly, his eyes nearly vanish behind the apples of his cheeks.   
This is the smile of a man who nearly took Chanyeol from him, a small voice in the back of his head says, but it’s genuine and welcoming and he catches himself smiling back, brushing aside the vile words that fill up his head. He can’t look away from the man up there, spreading his arms as if he is waiting for Baekhyun to break into a sprint and run into his embrace and he nearly does, tempted to do it just to see the reaction of the most powerful man in all of Yongnian and the Waking World.   
But he can’t. Not when in front to King Minseok, first of his name, the Red Lord kneels on a white pillow, head tipped back and eyes probably staring up at the star above him, hands held in front of him. Baekhyun knows he can’t turn around and watch Baekhyun walk up towarsd him, but he wishes more than anything that he would. That they could look at each other while Baekhyun walks up there with Prince Sehun leading him, like he is some Lord or graceful Lady, not a lowborn, parentless whore with a cut up face. There is a matching pillow right next to him, waiting for him and he feels himself speeding up, hearing Sehun chuckle next to him.  
He’s been waiting for this for too long to waste any more time sauntering over to the King like he is simply taking a stroll through the gardens of Red River Falls. They had to lose each other in a pointless war to get to this place after all. What is time? Compared to this, what is the world?   
“Rise.”, the King says and his voice carries through the cathedral, thrown back from the white chalked walls and like one single body, all sojourners rise from their benches, turning to look at Baekhyun as he slowly walks up the steps to where the King welcomes him, placing both his small, strong hands on his shoulders. And before he can react, the man bends forward to kiss him onto both cheeks, nodding at Sehun who offers a deep bow and then takes his place in the row of Princes that line the side of the altar on both sides, looking regal and unmoving as statues. There are seven of them, the spot between the Golden Lord and the Blue Lord strangely empty. Eight. There should be eight.   
But Baekhyun can’t care about that, not when King Minseok takes his hand in his, guiding him to the pillow by the stairs, to Chanyeol, whose eyes shine bright with joy, whose lips threaten to stretch into the widest of grins, as if he is about to speak, to greet him although traditions permit them to speak a single word to each other until the ceremony is over.   
“I promise not to waste too many words.”, Minseok whispers to him and Baekhyun almost breaks out into laughter when the King winks at him, helping him to kneel down on the white cushion, which is quite the challenge in his long flowing silk garments, the wide pants pulling strangley taut over his thighs while he kneels.   
Minseoks hand is on his head then, fingers brushing over the leafs of his crown, then in to his hair. Out of his peripheral vision he sees him doing the same to Chanyeol, touching his Prince Crown and then his almost white hair, settling there while he closes his eyes.   
“Let us pray.”, he instructs loudly and Baekhyun immediately shuts his eyes, presses his palms flat together to place them in front of his lips, feeling the weight of the Kings palm on his head like would feel the touch of the Gods themselves. He knows Chanyeol is doing the same, everybody in the cathedral is. He wonders for a moment if Mother is praying too, or if she is scoffing and watching the people around her do it, barely veiled disgust in her big, brown eyes.  She was never one to believe in the Gods, or put her faith in them, let alone trust in them to write her fate. Mother always shaped her own path, always took her fate into her own hands. 

And Baekhyun is thankful for that.   
“Fire, we ask you for light today. Guide us to greatness, bring flames to our hearts. Give us the brightness we need in the night, show us the path that is hidden in the dark. Fire, grant us the honor to speak two names today, to forge them into one, two who shall be joined by the furnace of your glory. Hear us today, shine your light onto those two and bless their union.”  
“Fire.”, Baekhyun mutters under his breath, hears it echo from hundred more mouths, from Chanyeols deep voice next to him. King Minseoks hand in his hair caresses him tenderly, takes the crown from him and he opens his eyes, drops his hands back down to take it when Minseok hands it to him.   
“Chanyeol, child of the Waking World. Born brother to the King, born to the Grace of Red River Falls. Bringer of victory to Yongnian and Lord of the Kingdom. Fire stips you down from your titles in the presence of this moment, takes those names from you. You are equal in the eyes of the Gods. A simple man.”, the Kings voice booms above his head and Baekhyun shudders, as if thunder rolls through him, instinctively reaching for Chanyeols hand that is already there, twining their fingers together. “Baekhyun, child of the Waking World. Born in the heart of this Kingdom, gemstone of Silver Haven, joy of a Lords heart. Fire strips you down from those titles in the presence of this moment, takes those names from you. You are equal in the eyes of the Gods. A simple man.”  
Chanyeols hand feels reassuring in his, ground him as he shivers, trembles with the knowledge that now, there is nothing between them anymore. No wall of great names and titles and victories brought home. Here, kneeling before the King, in the grand cathedral of Red River Falls, they are truly equal. They are nothing.   
“We speak your names, children, like the Savior does. We call to the Fire to join you. Chanyeol.”  
When the Red Lords name falls, spoken by hundreds of voices, it rolls through the mess hall like waves against stone, racing through Baekhyun as if he is touched by God.   
“Baekhyun.”, the King declares loudly and the voices echo his name as well, as if he is not a simple commoner now joined in marriage with a man rightfully able to inherit the throne of Yongnian, in case he needs to. No drop of royal blood in his veins, but still he is here.   
“My brothers, exchange the crowns of harvest now.”, Minseok mutters, the words still carrying across the room and Baekhyun opens his eyes, turns slightly and meets Chanyeols gaze that seems slightly glazed over, as if he is looking at a far away place. But the Red Lords hands rise steadily where Baekhyuns own are trembling and clammy. Chanyeols crown looks almost the same as Baekhyuns own, but it’s silver not golden, sitting perfectly on Baekhyuns head. This one was made for him, he realizes while he places the golden one on Chanyeols light hair, watching as it slips perfectly into place. And the silver one is his, forged for him and only him by the gold smith, a symbol of his new life. He’s is Lord consort of Red River Falls now. 

“Fire, I call a new name to you today.”, Minseok then speaks, his voice so soft it is nothing more than a whisper, but Baekhyun is sure even the last person in this hall can hear him. The window above them lights up with a ray of sunshine, like someone lit a candle behind it and the shadow of the nine tipped star is cast down on them - as if he and Chanyeol, in the eye of the Gods, their hands clasped together once more while the crow behind them repeats the Kings whispered words.   
A shiver runs down his spine and his fingers grip Chanyeols a little tighter, his eyelashes fluttering as he lifts his gaze, meeting one out of burning eyes, a blue flame that is barely there in the Blue Lords eyes, like he is not looking at Baekhyun but into the future and when the Blue Lord inclines his head ever so slightly, it’s as if he is looking at the Savior himself, a blessing spoken with the tongue of the Gods. The Princes lips move, even before Minseok speaks, almost as if he is the one placing words in the Kings mouth, a puppeteer standing next to the altar pulling the strings when the King lifts his hands, palms facing the crowd.   
“With the power conferred to me by the Savior, as a servant of the people of Yongnian, I name you the Red Lord and his Confidant, one soul. I give you a name that shall be known by the Gods and the people of this Kingdom. Baekhyun, who was born without noble blood, you are now to be called Mercy of Red River Falls, as your Confidant and husband is the Warlord of these lands. Rise.”  
The voices speak the word, over and over again, a storm rising in the cathedral, like raindrops against glass as they repeat his new title in reverence and Baekhyun feels tears burning in his eyes, his throat clogging up while he rises to his feet, Chanyeols hand pulling him up and to the side so they can face each other, the Red Lords bright with the smile on his lips.  
“Normally.”, Minseok says silently and the crowd falls mute once more. “I wouldn’t say this, but seeing as this wedding in itself isn’t traditional… Please kiss your husband, my brother.”  
And it seems Chanyeol has been waiting for it, his hands immediately framing Baekhyuns face, thumb stroking over the side of his cheek where one of his scars is still cutting deep into his skin, pulling at the corner of his mouth. When their lips meet, Baekhyun half expects the crowd to cheer, but it is silent in the cathedral, the only sound his beating heart behind his ribs and he grips Chanyeols elbows, closes his eyes as he sinks into their liplock.   
Only then does he hear it, the silent laughter of one of the Princes, a muted whooping sound and a harsh hiss to silence the unruly youngster, who is disturbing the ceremony - but the people in the cathedral are laughing, chuckling and snickering and then, as if all restraints fall off of them, they start clapping, shouts of congratulations rising louder and louder and when Chanyeol finally lets go of his face and takes his hand to rise it high above Baekhyuns head as if he is the sweetest price of victory, the whole cathedral is rejoicing. They bow as one, whispering his title again and Baekhyun can’t help but let the tears flow free, overwhelmed by it all.   
“Now now.”, comes the Kings amused voice from his side and he shudders, feels the Kings arm brush against his, a hand settling in the small of his back. “I hope those are tears of joy He’s not that bad.”  
“I didn’t hear that.”, Chanyeol rumbles out and King Minseoks lips twitch, before he breaks out into bright tinkling laughter, his shoulder shaking and eyes crinkling and then he bows to them, one hand placed on his chest, the other brushing back his cloak as he bows his head and Baekhyun thinks for a moment that the King bows too deep, that his back bends too much considering he is their ruler and they are nothing but his servants.  And Baekhyun wants nothing more than to get out of here, away from all those people staring at him, but Chanyeol keeps him in place, fingers laced together with his as one line after the other clears from the cathedral, bowing deep in front of them and placing long stemmed flowers by the bottom of the stairs, small red envelopes attached to the petal cups, wishes of happiness written on them. He stands there, feeling so out of place he nearly trembles under the force of it and yet it’s like he belongs right there, into the middle of the Princes who slowly close in on them, clapping Chanyeol on the shoulders and bowing their heads to Baekhyun, faces soft and smiling. 

The Golden Lord lingers a little longer than the others, hand around the elbow of Prince Sehun, the other holding his cane as he limps towards the King, bumping shoulders with him like the brothers they are. The King only rolls his eyes and waits, shooing the Princes away with waves of his hands after each of them has placed their flowers on the stairs, some of them winking at Chanyeol, who is vibrating with laughter.   
“I guess.”, the King starts then, when the only people left in the cathedral are the wedding pair and him, a single man waiting by the doors of the hall, eyes trained on the King. “I will give a speech while we wait for you in the festive hall. Take your time.”  
He gives them both another smile, already walks down the stairs with his cloak brushing over the black carpet on the white marble of the floor, when Chanyeol stops him.   
“Brother.”, the Red Lord calls out, his thumb brushing over the back of Baekhyuns hand softly, feeling the slight confusion in him. “When are you going to take this step?”  
For a moment, Baekhyun looks up at him, eyebrows furrowed and mouth opening, a question already lingering on the tip of his tongue, when he notices the Kings eyes flickering over to the door, where the man in the white cloak is standing, one of the Kings shoulders lifting in a shrug.   
“We already did.”

With that, the King leaves them, walking down the aisle in brisk steps and Baekhyun thinks maybe his eyes are playing tricks on him, but he could swear that the King just kissed the man over there on the cheek, their hands touching in a way that is so intimate no words can describe it.   
“And he scolded me for not telling him sooner.”, Chanyeol mutters next to him and Baekhyun makes a small noise, half conformation, half bewilderment, but all thoughts are brushed away when he feels Chanyeol turning towards him again.   
“You are my Mercy now.”, the Red Lord breathes and Baekhyun breaks out into a grin, his head cocking to the side while he looks down at all the flowers littering the flower, a myriad of colors on the black of the carpet. “I would probably say that you are  _ my  _ Mercy, Chanyeol.”  
“No.”, the other disagrees quietly, his hand lifting to brush the back of his fingers against the side of Baekhyuns face. “Not really.”

 

The first thing that greets him in the celebration hall is an arm full of child, a small warm body wrapping around his middle and legs, nearly dragging him to the floor and he lets out a startled noise, nearly a scream before he hears Chanyeol laughing and the Red Lord sweeps in to hoist the child up into his arms that clings to Baekhyuns body as if it’s struggling against the Lords hold, pulling him with him until his body collides with Chanyeols larger one, the Red Lord wrapping an arm around his back to steady him while he pushes the child onto his hip, clicking his tongue.   
“Ah, ah.”, he makes quietly. “What did we say about tackling Baekhyun?”  
The boy pouts, stretches his arms out for Baekhyun and with a roll of his eyes and deep sigh, the Red Lord lets him go, Baekhyuns own arms already reaching for the child.   
“They said I am not allowed to watch.”, the boy whines and Baekhyun laughs, presses a kiss to his cheek. “It was really boring, Taehyung.”  
“But I wanted to watch!”, complains the boy loudly and some people around them turn their heads to look at them, quickly looking away again as they see the newly wed Prince couple with the child.   
Nobody ever questioned where Taehyung came from, or why the Red Lord took him in as a ward and now, that he and Baekhyun are married, they question it even less. They need a heir after all.   
And Taehyung is not of noble blood, far from it, but Baekhyun never had to argue with his lover, even though he was prepared to fight for it when he first found Taehyung in the streets of silver haven, barely four years old.   
“It was really, really boring.”, Baekhyun emphasizes, shifting the child in his arms until Taehyung is sitting on his hip bone, little hands resting on Baekhyuns shoulders. “Lots of prayers and  _ kisses. _ ”  
“Ew.”, Taehyung makes, screwing up his nose and his eyes nearly vanish behind his cheeks. “Maybe the nice man was right.”  
“Nice man?”, Chanyeol asks as he is guiding the both of them through the crowd of guests and towards the table where the other Princes sit, already eating and drinking.   
“This one.”, Taehyung says and points at the Golden Lord, who is conversing with one of the ambassadors of the Dunes, who stands out between the other guests like a sore thumb, clad in all red from head to toe, paint on his cheeks and forehead.   
“He said that I won’t like it, but that I will be very happy when you come here, because now you two can be really my parents!”  
“Is that so?”, Chanyeol snickers and pats the Golden Lord on the back as they pass him. The man barely reacts, only reaches out with one hand and slaps it across his brothers arm to shoo him away.   
They hear the ambassador laugh quietly.  There are people dancing in front of their table and they have to steer around them, nearly caught in the throng and people already waving them over to join them and dance, but Chanyeol kindly refuses them, pointing at the child in Baekhyuns arms. Laughter is filling the hall and Baekhyun is once more overwhelmed by it all, by the life that beats like drums through the people of the Red River.   
“Brother!”, the King greets them, grinning and patting the seat by his left, Commander Jongdae sitting at his right side, deeply in conversation with one of the younger Princes, who now wears the colors of White Hall, Princess Byulyi leaning into his side with a gentle smile.   
“Yes?”, Chanyeol asks, sounding a little confused and the King furrows his eyebrows at him.   
“I wasn’t talking to you, Chanyeol.”, he tuts and raising his chin. “Come sit with me.”  
“Oh.”, Baekhyun makes, hearing Taehyung giggle as the child practically falls out of his grasp and climbs into the Kings lap, who lifts his arms so he can settle on his thighs.   
“Taehyung!”, Baekhyun gasps and nearly falls over his own feet when he rushes after his ward, ready to pluck him from Minseoks lap, but the King already settles one hand on the childs side, pushing his own plate towards him while laughing silently. He is stunned into silence then, sinking down into the chair offered to him while Chanyeol silently grumbles behind him, slipping into his own seat.   
“So my nephew told me he wants his own tower, now that he is a Prince.”, the King starts while he watches Taehyung bite into a piece of fruit, only to end up sputtering at the sour taste.    
“I’m… I’m sorry your majesty, he should learn some manners.”, Baekhyun quickly says, feeling heat rising in his cheeks, but the King only looks amused, ruffling Taehyungs hair with one of his small hands.   
“I doubt there is a whole tower empty in the Ruby Hold, but I told him that I’m sure Chanyeol will give him at least bigger chambers. Isn’t that right, Chanyeol?”   
“Is that a command, my King?”, Chanyeol simpers around the rim of a goblet and Minseok snorts.   
“Of course.”, he says, completely serious and Taehyung blinks up at the King, reaches out to touch the mans cheek right underneath his eye, whispering “pretty” under his breath.   
“I am so sorry.”, Baekhyun wheezes, but then Commander Jongdae turns to them, raising a single eyebrow.   
“Tell me again, how you don’t like children?”, he chuckles and Minseok gives him a pointed look, pursing his lips while he takes his cloth napkin and starts wiping Taehyungs fingers that are sticky with fruit juice. The child only watches, eyes blinking wide and settles against the Kings stomach, kicking out his legs and letting them bump against the Kings knees. 

Baekhyun feels cold dread spreading in his stomach, fingers gripping his pants above his thighs, ready to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness for his adoptive sons rude behaviour.   
But King Minseok doesn’t even look at the child, only settles his hand on top of his head and hisses:    
“I never said I don’t like children, Jongdae.”  
“If I remember correctly, you said you don’t like the thought of taking care of one.”  
“I  _ said.”,  _ the King stresses and Taehyung wiggles around in his hold until he can push himself up so he is kneeling on Minseoks lap, hands on his shoulders. “I don’t like the thought of taking care of a baby. And especially not if it means we have to-”  
“This is hardly the time to discuss this, don’t you think?”, Prince Sehun suddenly cuts in from behind Princess Byulyi, who is laughing so hard into her napkin, the curls around her face are jumping. The Princes voice is both humored and bored at once and his eyes find Baekhyun next to the King, winking at him. “We are sure you two can have this talk in your chambers later tonight.”  
“Sehun.”, Minseok says, nearly snaps and the younger Prince quickly turns away, slipping from his chair. “I have to find Luhan and ask him for a dance.”   
“A dance.”, Jongdae deadpans, staring at the Blue Lord as if he has grown a second hand. “With a stiff knee. My Prince, you have-”   
"He stands on his toes.”, Taehyung suddenly blurts out and everybody looks at him, stunned. “The nice man always stands on this mans toes when they dance. I saw them doing it in the hallway.”  
Chanyeol makes a weird sound then, as if he is choking and Baekhyun feels like his face is on fire.   
“Your choice of word is truly interesting.”, the new White Lord notes gently and the child blinks at him, bewildered. “Did they manage to dance?”  
Taehyung nods, fingers patting Minseoks cheeks and the smile that spreads across his lips is so bright, it is nearly blinding. “Uncle Minseok, does that mean you want a child like me?”  
“Maybe not like you.”, Jongdae whispers and then winces - almost as if Minseok kicked him underneath the table.   
“Why?”, Minseok asks and Taehyungs small face grows serious while he stretches to brush his fingers over the white fringe of hair hanging into Minseoks forehead. “There is a girl in the streets of Silver Haven, who has the same hair color as you… she even has blue eyes. They say her mother gave her away to the Low Town because she was born like this. Are you her father?”  
“That’s enough.”, Baekhyun then cuts in, plucking his ward from the Kings lap, who is staring at his Commander, whose eyes are wide and his mouth opens around words so silently, no one but the King can hear them. Taehyung whines but lets Baekhyun lift him up into his own lap, sulking as soon as he sits there.   
“Excuse me for a second.”, Minseok suddenly says and gets up from his seat, Jongdae already rising as if to follow him, but the King pats his shoulder and shakes his head, their eyes holding each others gazes for long moments before they break apart, the King leaving the table with unhurried steps.  Baekhyun follows him across the room with his eyes, watches him step up to the ambassador in red, who quickly drops into a low bow.  “He is turning my wedding into a political meeting.”, Chanyeol complaints silently next to Baekhyun, but the new Mercy of Red River Falls only shakes his head, shooting his husband a quick glance.   
“He is concerned about Yifans absence.”, he tells the Red Lord and Chanyeols light eyebrows shoot up on his forehead. “How do you know?”  
“I-”

He falls silent then, rendered speechless by his own words.   
“We should dance.”, Chanyeol then says slowly, carefully so as if he is afraid to startle Baekhyun.   
He nods, places his hand in the one Chanyeol offers him and Taehyung hopps from his lap to climb into the Kings seat, picking sweets off the mans plate. And something tells him that the King will slip the child even more cakes and candies when he returns. 

 

“This is a beautiful wedding.”, Commander Zhoumi says next to him, sounding conversationally and Luhan hums, leaned against one of the pillars framing the hall, arms crossed over his chest. His cane is balancing against his thigh, the gold of the handle feeling warm through the flowing silk robes he is wearing. “Only one dance tonight, my Lord?”  
“Well.”, Luhan sighs, brushing his long hair back over his shoulder as his eyes find Sehun in the middle of the dancing people, gracefully bowing to a young lady. Oh if only his brother would acknowledge her bright eyes and smile, if only he would consider-   
“My Lord.”, Zhoumi cuts off his thoughts and Luhan stiffens, breahtes out a deep breath.   
“I can not dance for long, even if my dear brother helps me. The knee hurts.”   
“Scars like this one will always hurt.”, the Commander tells him, his eyes scanning the crowd and flickering over to the Mercy of Red River, to his scarred face. “But it’s not the flesh that hurts us. It’s the heart.”  
Luhan hums, leans more against the pillar and closes his eyes for a moment, massaging the bridge of his nose where a slight headache has settled into his skull.   
“I wish he could have something like this one day.”, he breathes out, only noticing that he spoke out loud when his Commanders hand grips his shoulder, almost too hard.    
“Maybe he will.”, Zhoumi says seriously and Luhan shakes his head, thinks about the scar on his wrist, the matching one on Sehuns own hand. He thinks about all those times he and Sehun fought about this, about his younger brothers claims that there is no one else for him, that Luhan doesn’t understand that his people don’t change the choices of their hearts.   
“He… says he doesn’t want it.”, he tells his Commander slowly and the man nods, as if it’s the only thing in the world he really understands. '  
“My Lord, I can only say that I know what it feels like to love the wrong person. And I can understand it, when Prince Sehun says he doesn’t want to change his heart.”  
The words sting like needles, like he swallowed a mouth full of hot coals and he makes a soft sound of disagreement. Zhoumis hand only grips him tighter.   
“Luhan, listen to me.”, the man starts and the Golden Lords eyes flicker over to him, wide. “Maybe I should tell you… maybe today is the right time to tell you what I… was longing to tell you for so long already.”  
His Commander looks old, Luhan suddenly realizes. Deep lines in his face, hair greying at the temples and a grim touch to his mouth. When did Zhoumi grow so old? How long has it been?   
“What?”, he asks, bracing himself for his Commanders words, but the man only looks at him, drawing in a deep breath and then shaking his head. “You look like your mother, if you look at me like this.”  
Luhan knows that. He knows that people say he looks like her, the woman he never saw, never met. 

The woman who never kissed his forehead, or held him in her arms because he killed her. 

“She named you.”, Zhoumi then says, gently and Luhan flinches. “It was the only thing she did for you. Don’t think of her like that, my Lord.”'  
Think how, Luhan wants to ask, but he doesn’t. He bites his tongue and nods, looking at Sehun dancing over there, wondering what it would be like to be the one dancing with him, not standing on his brothers toes.  The conversations seems to be over and yet Zhoumi doesn’t drop his hand away from Luhans shoulder, as if he is keeping him in place by his side, like a child that needs to be watched and taken care of and Luhan hates him for it. He is not a child for so long anymore.  He hears the screeching laughter of a child, sees his brother Chanyeol racing after a little boy who is squealing in joy as he slips through the people, hiding behind the Kings legs, who looks so startled by it, Luhan can’t help but laugh. Is this the life without war, everybody was talking about? 

Children, weddings and celebrations? Dancing and laughing? Will he forever feel like his mind can’t grasp the concept of peace?

“Come.”, Sehun suddenly says next to him, offering him a hand and Luhan stares at him with furrowed eyebrows for a few seconds. The Blue Lord stares back, unblinking and then provides: “It’s time to see them off. They need to leave for the Ink Waters now.”  
To honor the Gods and let the Priestesses bless their wedding in the old way, is what Luhan knows, but he will never see it with his own eyes. No marriage for him.   
“Alright.”, he then nods and places his hand in his brothers, letting the younger man pull him away from the pillar while he grasps his cane, bidding his goodbye to his Commander, who smiles at him almost  
sadly. How long has it been?  
“Treat on safe roads!”, the whole hall cheers as the Red Lord and the Mercy say their farewells, bowing in front of them all and then towards the King, who takes both their hands and leads them to the door. Chanyeols ward is hot on his heels, clinging to the Kings coat and Luhan can’t help but laugh when he catches Jongdaes eyes across the room. They exchange a knowing look, the Commanders face filled with a sense of longing and Luhan wonders if he looks the same when he looks at Sehun. They leave the hall together, following their King and leaving behind the celebrating people, who will dance until the sunrise to honor the union of their Lord with the one he loves. The Princes don’t talk while they walk down the long hallway leading out into the open, the only people coming with them their Guards and the ambassadors of the Dunes, both of them silently speaking in their strangely lilting tongue.   
“Stay safe on the road.”, Minseok says as soon as they are out in the open, the light of the setting sun bathing them all in an orange glow. “And please return to Silver Haven after you are blessed at the Ink Waters. I have important matters to discuss with you, brother.”  
His eyes are serious, no smile on his lips as he hugs Chanyeol goodbye, soon after drawing Baekhyun into a tight embrace that startles the young man so much, he barely manages to return the gesture.  One after the other, they say goodbye, muttering blesses and wishes of a sound journey to the couple, who only smiles and nods, hands clasped together just like Luhan has his hand clasped around Sehuns upper arm to keep himself steady on the rocky cobblestone. Behind the carriage waiting for Chanyeol and his groom, the sun is nothing but a bright orange ball in the sky, sinking lower and lower and making the Red River flame with fire.  The land is vast out here, so different from the Golden Tides, steppes stretching all the way to the horizon and Luhan feels dwarfed out here. He wishes he could return to his castle and hide from the Waking World until he understands what peace really is.  
It’s their turn now, to say their wishes, but when Luhan takes a step forward, Sehun doesn’t budge.   
“Sehun.”, Minseok says, calling the Blue Lord forward with a wave of his hand, but the younger man doesn’t move, his eyes wide when Luhan looks up at him. He trembles.   
Luhan can feel if through the hand he has around his brothers biceps, shaking like a leaf in the wind.   
“Brother.”, Chanyeol grins from where he is standing close to the carriage, cocking his head to the side. “It’s time to say goodbye. We will see each other in Silver Haven in a weeks time.”  
  
“No.”, Sehun suddenly breathes out and Luhan already opens his mouth to scold him when a shadow races over them, blocking out the sun for only a heartbeat. 

 

The carriage behind the Red Lord and his Mercy goes up in a ball of flames with a mighty scream.

  
  
  
  



	3. The falcon flies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention that this story is dedicated and will always be dedicated to S, who listened to my whining through Vitreous King and who loves Luhan probably more than she loves her husband. Always love to have a bomb-ass party if you know what I mean.   
> If you ever read this and bother to take the time to read through the authors note, I am NOT sorry for anything that happens here and you know you love it too. 
> 
> Anyways.   
> Boring dedication aside, please enjoy this chapter and excuse all errors, since this is neither beta-ed nor proof read.   
> I love comments probably more than I love making my characters suffer, so please leave me one?

Chapter 2: The falcon flies

  
  
  


Luhan falls. 

There are splinters of wood stuck in his arms, barely missed his face when the carriage exploded and he was just able to rip up his arms to protect his head. His robes are ripped, something burns its way through the leather pants he is wearing underneath. The cane flies from his right hand when he hits the ground with a dull thud, a throbbing pain blooming in the back of his head.   
The sounds around him are muted, screams and the noises of something else going up in flames around him almost as if he is looking through a window, as if he can simply close a door and block those noises out. He rolls onto his belly, spits out a mouth full of ash before he manages to open his eyes, vision blurry with the throbbing in his head. His eyes water when smoke bites into them, a thick veil of orange and black that is fogging up the chaos around him. 

Somewhere in the smoke he sees people moving, feels the vibrations of boots under his palms. 

The grass around him is burning. In the fog he hears Baekhyuns voice screaming for the child, panicked and breaking, a high pitch that nearly drowns out all the other voices around.   
He sputters, pushes himself up onto his elbows, but his stiff knee makes it nearly impossible for him to sit up and he struggles to even lift himself off the ground. A pair of hands is suddenly around his arms, yanking him upwards, making him crash against a broad chest.  For a moment he thinks it’s Sehun, but then he sees the signet ring that gleams bright in the dirt and destruction around them - the Red Lord.   
“What-”, he starts, but Chanyeol is gone before he can ask his question, yelling for Baekhyun, whose voice echoes his call, soon followed again by the name of their ward. A body crashes into his side, makes him stumble again and the fog around him moves with a gust of wind, a strange sound like waves crashing against stone filling his head.   
“Luhan!”   
It’s Sehuns voice, urgent and loud and he blinks his eyes open, not knowing when he closed them, to meet his brothers burning gaze. Sehun shakes him, but Luhan can barely make out what the other Lord is saying, letting his eyes flicker around them as if he is in a daze.   
“Go!”, Sehun demands him, shaking him once more. “Go back to the castle and-”  
"The Golden Guard closes in on them just in the moment another ball of fire lights up the smoke around them, making it shine white and yellow for a moment and the heat that races across Luhans face and arms is scalding, the wind hot enough to make his face blister.  Sehuns head whips upwards and his hand is on the hilt of his sword so abruptly, Luhan flinches in front of him, fingers gripping tight onto the other Princes forearms. To keep himself still, or to keep Sehun there - he isn’t sure anymore.  They’re all thrown to the side with another gust of wind, so strong it makes them nearly tumble to the ground, the shouts around them growing louder in shock.   
Luhans robes rip at his body, fluttering around them like a pair of wings and Sehun grips him tighter, the hold he has on the Golden Lords arms painfully bruising by now. The world around them grows silent suddenly, the smoke blows around them in a whirlwind, clearing away.   
They are standing in a circle of flames. Blazing hot and bright, caging the entire royal family in a flaming prison. The gate is on fire, the remainders of the carriage lies broken just inside the circle. To their right Luhan sees Baekhyun kneeling on the floor, dirtied and blood trickling down from his dark hairline, holding his ward in his arms and pressed against his chest, as if his own small body is enough to protect the child from danger. Chanyeol stands above them, sword drawn and his Guard close around him, spears raised high, shields held in a protecting formation around their Lord.   
Jongdae is on the ground too, holding his shoulder with a sneer, blood flowing from between his fingers were a splinter of the carriage hit him in the joint between torso and shoulder, his teeth shine with blood. But there stands Minseok, right beside his Commander, almost untouched by the dirt and fire around them, head held high and his crown shines in the light of the flames like a crystal halo, painting his face in spots of white and crimson.  And then Luhan realizes that their King and the Blue Lord are looking in the same direction, faces hard and almost… waiting. They are looking up.   
It’s Sehun who moves then, all of them frozen in shock - Guard and Princes alike, all of them with their weapons blank and ready - all of them but the King and Sehun, who are just standing there, staring, waiting. It’s a subtle movement, a shift of muscles while Sehuns fingers slip from Luhans arms, his body pushing itself to the side so he is standing between Luhan and the burning carriage, a muscle in his jaw jumping. And as if this was a cue, the shadow races across them once more, a mighty breeze crashing against them from above, making their hair and cloaks whip.

It’s as if it dropped from the sky.   
Mighty, black and giant. 

The carriage crushed under the heel of something massive and equally as black.   
At first he can’t comprehend what he is seeing, what his eyes are looking at and his mind reels, a gasp leaving his mouth as he slumps forward into Sehun, who wraps an arm around him on instinct.  Wings unfurl from the black mass, a long neck stretching and then the beast opens its jaws and  _ roars.   
_ A Dragon. 

The soldiers around them move, almost as if they are ready to attack the giant beast that sits in the rubble of the royal carriage in front of them, its tail lasing and its lips rising in a snarl, hissing at them while fire drips off its massive jaw. Its head is almost as big as the destroyed vehicle, long and slender, bright ember eyes sitting deep in the skull, surrounded by smaller, red shining scales that glitter like crystals. Several twisting horns sit above its eyes, four slightly longer than the others, curling back towards its neck where red tendrils flare in the breeze of the flames under its feet.   
The body behind the neck is sturdy, the belly protected by large, thick looking scales that are wider than Luhans hands and he suddenly itches to step forward and touch the beast, lay his hand on its chest to feel the heart that is beating inside the black chest.  The wings that fold themselves against the animals sides are just as black, leater between bones and the tips are pointed, armed with sharp hooks. The talons that are flexing into the burning earth on each of its paws look like crystal too, like the scales around its eyes and if Luhan weren’t so terrified, he would be in awe.   
The King lifts a hand then, ripping him out of his stupor and the soldiers stop, no movement left in the group that is trapped in their fiery circle. What is he doing, Luhans mind screeches and he trembles in Sehuns hold, struggling for breath.  He doesn’t see it until it moves. A lone figure on the back of the dragon, tiny on its massive body.   
A woman, clad in leather. On her head of short blond hair sits a crown of bones, feathers woven into the strands of her hair, beads dangling above her eyes and falling just beneath her eyebrows.   
She’s beautiful. If she weren’t that horrifying.  On her cheeks there are fine lines drawn with red and if Luhan didn’t know better, he would think it’’s blood smeared into her skin, almost as thin as painted on with a brush, running down her face and meeting at her chin.   
“What an honor to be in the presence of the royal family of Yongnian.”, the woman suddenly speaks up and her voice carries across to them all, loud and clear and beautiful. It’s strong, hard around the edges and Luhan holds his breath as Minseok takes a step forward, shielding Jongdae on the ground just like Sehun is shielding Luhan.   
“You have just attacked this royal family.”, Minseok says loudly and the woman giggles, one hand curled in front of her mouth. The King draws in a deep breath. “This is a declaration of war.”  
“No war.”, the woman shakes her head, waving a hand around, the other patting the Dragon on the neck, who curls in on itself and vibrates with a hiss, head turning as if to snap at the human sitting on its back. The woman clicks her tongue and the Dragon falls silent, like a dog on a leash.   
“I didn’t kill anybody, did I?”  
“Who are you?”, Chanyeol asks loudly, voice breaking with anger. “You didn’t kill any of us, but you attacked us. On our land. As my King just said-”  
“I am not here to discuss my matters with you,  _ Red Lord.”,  _ the rider snarls and the Dragon raises its head to growl at Chanyeol, who visibly pales under the layer of ash that clings to his face.   
She looks at all of them, then. Her eyes travel over each face, each sword and spear raised at her and Luhan sees her smile. Terrifyingly beautiful.   
“My name is Amber.”, she then simpers and Minseok moves again, just slightly. His shoulders draw straighter, his head raises and when he speaks again, his voice is as hard as the steel of his sword.   
“Why are you here? This is a royal wedding. As my brother said, you dared to attack us. I demand an explanation.”  
Her eyebrows shoot up underneath the beats dangling on her forehead and then she laughs:   
“An explanation you will get, King Minseok, first of your name. Touched King, the one who has seen the Abyss. You knew I was coming. You  _ felt  _ it. Didn’t you?”  
Minseok stays silent, stares her down with burning eyes and she laughs again, brighter and louder this time, as if she couldn’t be more amused by the situation they are all in. The beast under her body shifts and turns to the side, showing them all her full body, the leather armor she wears, the furs wrapped around her neck and torso, the straps holding it all together. Never before has Luhan seen such an armor - he never went into war against people like her. But he battled each folk of this continent, each single tribe of the Sandlands and the Dunes.   
“Northmen.”, he whispers and Sehun grows incredibly still in front of him.   
“I am here on behalf of my Queen.”, Amber announces then, drawing a scroll from her armor, wrapped shut with a string of sinew. “And I have a message for three of you and the entire Kingdom of Yongnian.”  
The scroll sails through the air, landing just in front of Baekhyun, who only presses Taehyung tighter against his body, the child crying silently into his shoulder. Neither Chanyeol nor Baekhyun move to pick it up and not even Minseok acknowledges it, eyes still trained on the woman riding the Dragon.   
“You  _ knew  _ they were coming back, King Minseok.”, Amber smiles down at their King, all too gentle. “And you knew the day would come all Magic returns to the lands of Yongnian and the Waking World. The voices inside your head have told you. You didn’t listen.”  
“Your message.”, the oldest brother in the circle grits out and Luhan sees him balling his fists by his sides. “I will not exchange idle pleasantries with you. It’s only because of me, my men aren’t attacking you.”  
The woman cocks her head to the side and chuckles, showing a hint of pointed teeth. “Alright.”   
She lifts one of her hands then, folding in all of her fingers but one.    
“The first message is for the King himself.”, she starts then, shifting in her saddle. “My Queen gives her regards and informs you that we have already taken Ice Reach. Your brother the Black Lord and what is left of his family are in our custody. She lets you know that all tries of marching against us will result in the inevitable death of the Princesses and Princes that are still alive.”   
“Yifan.”, Luhan hears Sehun whisper, but it’s not a sound of shock - its more as if his brother is speaking the Black Lords name, as if he is calling out to him. As if Yifan is with them, here.   
“The second message is for the Golden Lord.”, Amber goes on, ignoring the ripple that goes through the men standing in the circle her Dragon burned into the ground. “My Queen invites you to Ice Reach and grants you the possibility of saving your brothers last remaining two children. You are to come alone in two weeks time, but we will allow you to take two soldiers with you. No other Lord. We don’t want to wipe out the entire royal family.”  
“The third message.”, Minseok spits and Ambers grin widens. “It’s for the Red Lord. Congratulations on your marriage. My Queen would have been delighted to receive an invitation.”  
Chanyeol lets out a snarl, just like the Dragon that suddenly whips its head around, jaw opening and flames flickering in the depths of his throat - a warning.   
“My Queen gives you these messages in the hopes that you are smart enough to accept her conditions. We will not march against Yongnian if you follow her instructions. We only want the life of the Golden Lord. All of Yongnian shall be spared if you do what she commands. Farewell, King Minseok.”  
Her last words have the Dragon moving, its wings unfolding once more and shielding the woman from their view. The mighty stroke of those wings has the ground shaking, ashes whirling up and Luhan can hear Taeyhung screaming in terror, just as the beast rises up from the carriage and vanishes in a whirl of sparks and smoke.   
The childs scream seems like an echo of his own horror. 

 

“This is unacceptable.”, Jongdae seethes while he slams the dirty scroll down on the table between them all, his fingernails nearly ripping through the paper in his fury. “Do they really think we would accept this?”  
“And what are the choices?”, Minseok asks calmly from where he sits in a high chair - the chair of the Red Lord. His elbows are resting on the table, his fingertips are leaned against each other. He looks calm, but there is a storm dancing through his two colored eyes.    
“You can not consider-”  
“I asked”, Minseok cuts off his Confidant almost harshly. “What are the choices? Another war for the people of Yongnian? If I let this happen, nothing will have changed.”  
“Brother.”, Chanyeol says slowly and lifts his hands from where he had it between his hands. There are bruises on his cheeks where he collided with the floor, too surprised to brace his own weight. “They have a Dragon. Possibly even more than one. Dragons are nothing we can kill. Not even our ancestors were able to.”  
“They were.”, the new White Lord shakes his head, soft curls of brown hair falling into his eyes. He’s the youngest in their middle, even though some of the newly crowned Princes look younger than him. But Minseok is glad to have Byulyi finding a good man in the White Guard and Seokjin always seemed like a good man while he served Minseok. “After all they won the Great Fire Wars.”  
“For what price though?”, Sehun asks and his voice is nearly too silent to hear it over their breathing.   
“Fact is.”, the Kind starts then slowly, finally dropping his hands and smoothing them over the surface of the table they are sitting at. His eyes are trained on the scroll, a deep frown etched into his face. “That we don’t know what we are dealing with and I am not going to risk a war for Yongnian once again, just because I am marching blindly into a battle.”  
A soft clear of a throat interrupts Chanyeols and Jongdaes starting complaints, all eyes turning onto one of the ambassadors of the Dune, who still has his hand curled in front of his mouth. The last time Luhan saw this man in Yongnian was when Minseok got poisoned at the banquet he held to sign the peace treaty - that in the end got signed years after, finally.   
The man blinks when he notices that he has indeed the attention of all Lords and Princes, a soft little smile taking over his lips, a dimple appearing in his cheek. “Oh.”  
“Did you have something to say?”, Jongdae snaps at him, his fist curling atop the scroll. “Or can I convince my Confidant to not sacrifice his own brother?”  
“Actually.”, the ambassador says with a voice as soft as a feather. “I think your King  is not willing to sacrifice the Golden Lord, by any means. But as a leader or a country, sometimes you don’t have the choice to save one life, compared to many.”  
“This-”  
“What Yixing is trying to say”, the second ambassador cuts in, his sharp eyes landing on Jongdae, who draws back in his seat as if he had been hit by a whip. “Is that King Minseok would surely reconsider if he were presented with a different… approach.”  
Minseok raises an eyebrow, Jongdae next to him shifting. “And that would be?”  
“Well.”, ambassador Yixing begins hesitantly and he looks back over to the other one - a tall man named Tao, if Luhan remembers correctly - and receives a nod. “Make them think you are following their instructions and… how do you people say it? Cut off the snakes head. If our history teachings are correct, then we know that Dragons do not attack just because they have fun burning people alive. The Northmen used them for decades in their wars, but they were controlling them with magic. Since all magic is lost, we can assume that only few of them are able to use it to control a Dragon. After the death of their Queen it should be easy to break their resistance and maybe we would be able to make the Dragon turn on them instead of us.”  
Silence takes over the small make-shift meeting chambers they are sitting in, benches hurriedly pushed to the walls and all servants ordered to clear the food off the long table. Minseok studies the ambassadors face for a long moment, staying mum, one of his hands coming up so he can brace his chin against his fist, elbow leaned against the table.   
“Us, you say?”, Luhan suddenly perks up and turns in his seat to look at the ambassador, ignoring the glum looking Sehun by his side, one of his hands resting on his brothers thigh underneath the table.   
“Of course.”, ambassador Yixing nods quickly, leaning forward in his seat. “If the Northmen should defeat Yongnian, the Dune would be the next country for them to invade. It is a purely logical choice for us to come up with a plan and help you defeat this enemy, before another war comes over this continent and burns down the peace we all gave so much for.”  
A purely logical choice. 

Luhan takes a breath, slumps in his chair and nods, one hand running through his long, black hair in thought. Minseoks eyes are on his, a gleam in them that has Luhan holding his gaze, knowing that his brother is familiar with the way Luhans mind works. They fought enough battles side by side to know by now if one of them is coming up with a plan.    
“I assume your plan would be to make them think we are following their orders.”, Luhan begins then, looking back over to Yixing and Tao, who look back at him curiously, as if they are studying a new, rare animal in a cage, their faces void of any emotion. “So what if we do follow them?”  
“No.”, Sehun snaps all of a sudden, startling them all so much, Luhan actually jumps in his seat. The Blue Lord was silent ever since they met the woman riding the Dragon, a closed-off look on his face, eyebrows furrowed together. Now they are too, but this time the young Prince looks angry, his lips pressed into a thin, white line.   
“We are not going to risk your like.”  
“Two choices, Sehun!”, Luhan snarls back and their eyes hold each other, burning with anger. “My life risked to give us a chance to spare our people from war, or our King appearing weak for not being able to protect his people! What do you want?”  
“He  _ does  _ seem weak if he can’t even protect his own family!”, Sehun all but screams, shooting out of his seat and staring down at Luhan with so much anger in his eyes, the Golden Lord suddenly gets a flash of the younger Sehun - a boy who arrived at the Golden Tides with nothing but frowns and scowls and scornful words only to hurt his older brother, who was ordered to shape him into a warrior.   
“And what can  _ you  _ even do?”, Sehun hisses and the only thing that could hurt more, if he would have added the word  _ cripple  _ to his sentence. “Alone? Against a Dragon?”  
“Boys.”, the Kings voice interrupts them and he sounds so much like their father, they both freeze up and turn to face him. Minseok sits leaned back in his chair, arms stretched completely with his palms resting on the surface of the table, but his face is as grim as a mask of stone.   
“He wouldn’t go alone.”, the King decides, almost as if he is trying to soothe Sehun, whose chest heaves as if he is about to foam with anger. “They said he is allowed to take someone with him. I will give him five men. Five of our best.”  
“Our best are the Warlords themselves.”, Jongdae grits out. “Or the Commanders. And I am not leaving your side in times like this, Minseok.”  
“Is that so?”, Minseok asks, tone clipped and his eyes only flicker over to Jongdae, who stubbornly sets his jaw, a muslce jumping at the sharp edge of it. “I need you here, anyways.”  
“We would go.”, ambassador Tao pipes up and exchanges a look with Yixing, who inclinces his head in approval. “And I owe my life to Lord Yifan. So it is only just that I save his too, or at least the lives of his children.”  
“I will  _ not  _ agree to this!”, the Blue Lord then seethes, fists balling and eyes darkening with fury. “You are not going to send Luhan there to die, Minseok! How  _ can  _ you even  _ think  _ about this?!”  
“You are not to disobey me!”, Minseok thunders and he seems like he is about to get out of his seat too, biut his presence alone is enough to have Sehun almost shrink where he stands. “You are still the youngest Warlord amongst us and if Luhan decides to agree, it is not  _ your  _ right to allow it, or not! Know your place, brother.”  
Minseok could as well have slapped the younger Prince, the Blue Lords face growing white as all blood drains from it, his mouth opening as if he is snarling. The Kings words thunder through the room like a whiplash, hard and unyielding and Sehun helplessly turns towards Luhan, his face suddenly begging and open and oh so terribly vulnerable.   
If he is gone, Luhan thinks for a short moment while he meets his brothers gaze, sees the desperation in it. If he is gone… would Sehun then consider marriage? A happy life with a wide and children for him and him alone? Because Luhan wouldn’t be there anymore to prevent it? To keep it all from him?  
“Luhan, please.”, Sehun whispers and Luhan rips his eyes away, stands up from his seat to lock eyes with their King. “I will go. I will take my Commander with me and these two noble man who are willing to risk their lives for our Kingdom, even though it is not their responsibility or duty.”  
A knife in the heart.   
It couldn’t be worse, the look on Sehuns face, if Luhan would have plunged a knife into his heart and would have twisted until he would hold the beating, bloody muscle in his grasp.   
The silence that falls over them now is almost the silence of a mourning, only interrupted by the Blue Lords angry steps that echo through the hall like cannon shots as he stomps out of their meeting room and slams the door.  Luhan knows he won’t see Sehun tonight in his chambers. Maybe he won’t see Sehun at all, until he leaves. And if he could, he wouldn’t even say goodbye to his younger brother, would simply leave and never look back, knowing that he is doing the right thing to not only save their Kingdom, but to save his brothers future as well.

 

The night is cool, but it still smells like smoke.   
Somewhere up there in the tower Luhan knows Chanyeol is trying to calm down a hysterical Baekhyun, who refused to let Taehyung out of his sight for even a second after they made it out of the flaming circle by the gates. Luhan wishes for a moment that he would have someone like that too, someone to calm him down, someone to take his hand and tell him that everything is going to be alright. He faced armies on his own, outnumbered and weakened, only him holding the lines of Yongnian until his reinforcements arrived. God of Death, truly.   
But this scares him.   
He is scared of so many things by now.   
Not only because of his knee and not only because he can’t fight, can’t even ride a horse for long without his entire body starting to hurt as if he got trampled. If he goes, he knows he will most likely not return, won’t be able to see Sehun ever again until they are united in the afterlife.   
And what would Sehun do, if he dies there? Would he bring war upon the Northmen, if his King orders him to not march against them? Would he burn down a Kingdom just to avenge Luhan?   
A couple of years back the thought would have been strangely romantic to him. To think their bond would be strong enough to bring destruction over the Waking World for each other.   
Wasn’t that what Luhan did just to save Sehuns life from their fathers wrath?   
But this would be different. This war would not be brought upon Yongnian to save anybody.   
It would just be fire and death because of love. Yongnian should be better than that.   
He swallows, traces the sweetness of cherry wine on his lips with his tongue and stares out into the night, to where he can see torches burning by the gate, people still hurrying to and fro to clean up the rubble left behind from the attack.  How lucky they were not to have lost anybody.   
Some of them could as well lie beneath that debris down there, burned to crisps under the raging, fiery breath of the giant, black beast that dropped from the sky, ready to crush them between powerful jaws. He could have lost Sehun there. The thought hurts.   
Luhan places a hand over his heart to calm his heart, to steady his breathing, swallowing down the sudden surge of panic that rises in his guts, that has his throat clogging up and tears stinging in his eyes. The pain of losing Sehun is still all too real to him. The memories of that night, Sehun convulsing in his arms while foam bubbled from his lips, stained a lovely pink with his blood and dripping all over his chin and neck, the stench of death and bile hard in Luhans nose while he held his brother through his dying breaths. Maybe he could never forget that moment.   
Sehuns eyes burning with blue for the first time in Luhans presence, a harsh reminder that he warned Luhan,  _ told  _ him before it happened.    
Learned the hard way, he muses while his throat clogs up with the remainders of that nights panic, to trust and always listen to his brother - but now he will go into almost certain death without batting an eyelash, against Sehuns will. There was no fire burning in his eyes.   
No prophecy on his lips, just a plea born out of selfish need to keep Luhan close.  
“It hurts, doesn’t it?”, Sehuns voice comes from behind him, out of the shadows by the fireplace, where only the leftover ashes are glowing dimly in the night. There is a little spark illuminating Sehuns face from time to time while the two Prince hold each others stares, Luhan half turned in his chair and Sehun sitting by the furnace.   
Inhale, the ember glows.   
Smoke curls from his brothers nose and shrouds his face deeper in shadows, shielding his eyes from Luhans. The long pipe is held gracefully between the tips of Sehuns fingers and Luhan wrinkles his nose, thinks of all the times the younger reprimanded him for smoking it while he was staring into the fires burning in his own furnace at home in Brightblade.   
“What?”, he asks, tries not to give it away that he already knows the answer to his question.   
“Losing.”, Sehun answers him calmly and Luhan narrows his eyes. “And you tell me, you are going to leave me behind to lose you? Are you that cruel, Luhan?”  
Luhan takes a deep, shuddering breath and steels himself for the things he will say next. He has played those words out inside his head for the last few hours.   
“You don’t  _ want  _ to understand, do you?”, he asks right back and winces when he realizes how icy his own voice sounds. “This is so much bigger than just you and me.”  
“ _ No it is not!”,  _ Sehun replies heatedly, voice deep like a grave and he gets up from his seat and takes a couple of steps until he is standing in the dim twilight that falls through the windows in Luhans circular tower chambers. “I told you that your life is intertwined with mine! You  _ said it back  _ when the only way I was able to stop you from dying was to threaten to die too! You know a vow that is spoken on the earth of Yongnian can not be broken!”

Luhan exhales then, around a small laugh, shaking his head. “Legends. Fairy tales told to children.”  
The sound Sehun makes is sharp, pained like a wounded animal. “How dare you, Luhan… How dare you trying to break us apart so I will not end up alone? Do you think I would burn down this country if I lost you? Damn right I would. But how  _ dare  _ you trying to hurt me just so I will let you go?”  
For a moment, Luhan is almost amused by how sharp his brothers mind is - or how easy he grew for the other man to read. But then he knows that his plan will never work with Sehun, that there is simply no way his brother would ever let him go without them fighting over it.   
“I have to.”, he whispers and Sehun shakes his head. “Sehun, I have to! Yongnian can’t-”  
“I can’t.”, Sehun cuts him off gently and his voice is filled with tears. “I can’t, Luhan. But you don’t understand and you won’t. I can’t let you leave. Tomorrow, I will talk to Minseok and tell him to send me instead of you. I can survive this plan.”  
He turns then, striding across the room in long steps and Luhan isn’t fast enough to stop him, stumbling out of his seat with one arm outstretched. “Wait!”  
“No waiting!”, Sehun bites out at him, whips around and a shadow flickers across his features. A vicious thing that looks nothing like his brother anymore standing in the doorway. “I will  _ not  _ lose you, Luhan. I am not willing to let you go just because your stupid sense of honor tells you to sacrifice yourself. And if you want me to sit here and fiddle my thumbs, waiting until the message arrives that you have died, you are nothing but a stupid, little boy.”  
With that, the Blue Lord slams the second door in his wake that day, leaving Luhan behind with tears running down his cheeks in hot, salty tracks. He knows what has to be done.   
And one day Sehun will understand. 

 

It’s Sehun, who always rides away from him, leaving Luhan behind while he breaks their promises. It was him, who left for the Barren Hills, trying to save his little brothers when their father went mad and slaughtered one Prince after the other. And it was him, who rode away in the dark of the night to save Minseok, even though he had promised Luhan that he wouldn’t do it and leave him.  
Now, in the light of a thin sliver of moon hanging tiny in the sky between dark rainclouds, it’s Luhan who does this. The specially crafted saddle made for him makes riding easier, but it still puts a strain on his leg and hip and he knows he will only be able to ride until sunrise, before he has to take a several hour break. So he rides hard, almost pushing his horse to the limits of its strength.   
His companions fall into an easy formation around him, the smaller Sandland breed horses easily outdoing his slender one in speed and grace. They didn’t question him when he knocked on their doors a couple of hours earlier, the ambassadors already having packed their saddle bags, as if they were only waiting for him to come. Zhoumi was the critical voice, the one who told him to wait for the light of day, instead of stealing away in the middle of the night like a thief.   
And yet his Commander knows, that perhaps Luhan wouldn’t have gone, if he had to face Sehun in the light of day, if he had to look into his brothers eyes and say goodbye to him.   
So they ride, North-West towards the Sandland borders, choosing the wide path around the Red River towards the Moving Mountains to gain a lead on whoever might to decide to follow them.   
This route is long and hard and Luhan knows that the Sandlands are no friendly lands, even to a man born in the South like him. For Sehun, a child of the North, it might as well be hell.   
The Red Hold grows distant by the horizon, still lit bright with fires, little twinkling windows that become one with the star filled sky the further he rides and he tries not to look back, tries not to give in to the long that fills his chest to turn his horse and ride back, say his proper goodbyes to his brother, or maybe let the younger Prince convince him not to go.   
As the moon rises higher in the sky, Luhan presses his heel harder into the side of his horse and rides.   
It is the best for all of them. For the sake of Yongnian, the greater good. For his brothers future, the selfish good. And to maybe end this life he doesn’t understand, the little good. 

 

The sky is like the ocean, wide and clear and icy - an endless canvas of blacks and blues that stretches out endlessly, a constant wave dotted with sea foam, feathers of white by day, seas of lights at night.   
The glass ceiling of his chamber reminds him of Silver Haven, the royal rooms that are so high above the city, the only tower in Crown Hold that lets him oversee his Kingdom like it’s where the throne would belong. He breathes in slowly, turns onto his side and tries not to reach out and touch the other side of the bed, where in Crown Hold his Commander would lie and look back at him, wide-eyed and so soft in  
the dark of the night where the light of the sun takes away his softness and replaces it with the mask of a grim warrior, forged in battle, born to die.   
He closes his eyes, balls his fist in the silken sheet, the other pressed into the pillow by the weight of his own hand and he bites his tongue, willing sleep to overcome him, only to jolt awake after only a couple of minutes with the sound of a fist pounding against his door. He rolls out of bed, reaching for his robes and tugging them on as he all but flies across the room, the door already opening to reveal a breathless Sehun, whose eyes are alight with blue, words spilling past his lips like soft, velvety wine.   
“He’s gone.”  
Minseok already knew.   
He watched them ride away into the night from his balcony while he observed the flames by the gate, knowing that Luhan was standing only a couple of floor below, doing the same.   
And while the King was nursing a cup of wine, he knew his brother was nursing a festering disease inside his heart, a longing to go out there and fight, ride back into a war that he could never win.   
A war against himself.   
“I know.”, he answers truthfully and the hurt and rage that flicker across his younger brothers face give him pause, halting in his steps so there is a distance between them that can easily be bridged.   
“You sent him to die, Minseok.”, Sehun breathes out and his teeth drag over his lips like he has to hold back vile words, ready to spit them at his King. If they were nothing but brothers, Minseok is sure, Sehun would punch him again, like he did in the throne room back when he had to break free from the crown between his hands. But there is no fight in the Blue Lord now, just regret, sagging shoulders and a defeated look on his face, that makes him look ages beyond his age.   
“He would have gone, no matter what.”, Minseok shakes his head and dares to walk up to his brother, lay a hand on his upper arm and squeeze. Sehun sways with the touch and his head falls, eyes trained on the floor while he drags a hand through his hair, breathing in hard with a heaving chest.   
“He does what he thinks is the right thing, little brother. Don’t take this away from him.”, the King echoes his earlier words, when the furious Prince had stormed into his room hours ago too, begging him to command Luhan to stay. But this time he adds, a little softer: “And he is doing this not only for you, or for the Kingdom, he is doing this for himself. The injury took away the only thing he lived for, Sehun. It took the war from him. Luhan doesn’t know this life. He is nothing like you and me. And while I would pray for it every night that I could fulfill the promise I made to you back on the battlefield, he is the one who decides if he wants it, or not. This peaceful life you were trying to give him at Brightblade. Luhan has to find the peace inside himself, before he can accept it from you.”  
Minseok watches his brothers whole body convulse, as if he is twisting away from an uncomfortable sensation, like fingers tickling down his ribs and he sees the protest in him, the way he opens his mouth and closes is again, before he runs a hand down his face. “He’ll die.”  
“Trust in him.”, Minseok says, voice steel and fire. “Trust in our brother to come back to us, to succeed with the plan and kill this Northmen Queen before they can a lay a hand on him. Have faith, Sehun. Faith in the man you love, in the bond between us as brothers, in the Golden Lord he is. He has won wars for Yongnian. He has held armies at bay on his own. The only reason he stopped fighting was a spear to his knee, Sehun. Do you want him to give up? To slowly wilt away like a flower cut off and put into a vase, beautiful to look at but bound to die? Or would you rather see him find his fire again, his will to live, to fight?”  
“Faith.”, Sehun mutters with a bitter smile and his mouth twists into a grimace, nose scrunching.   
“Did you see him die?”, Minseok urges, hand gripping his brother a little tighter. “Have you seen his death? Did the visions tell you?”  
“No.”, the young Prince shakes his head, almost reluctantly. “Lately… lately I don’t see anything.”  
“Then.”, the King decides, standing up straight and Sehun lifts his eyes to look at him. “If you can’t have faith in Luhan, have faith in fate. Have fate in the Savior, who brings you those visions.”  
Minseok expects him to fight against it, to argue, to get angry and follow their brother into the night and into a battle that would be lost if he did. He is ready to call for the Guard, to lock Sehun up if necessary, to save his Kingdom. But all his brother does is nod, once and curt and grim, defeat written over his face with deep lines of sorrow. The King lets out a shaking breath of relief.    
Jongdae by the door does too. 

 

They cross the border into the Sandlands by at the dawn of the next day, a sliver of gold painted across the horizon to their right and Luhan sighs when he looks back and finds the path behind them empty, the Kingsroad deserted and only dusted over with sand by the hooves of their horses.   
“Aquash lies just a couple of miles ahead, my Lord.”, Tao informs him, sounding as if they just took a stroll in the gardens of Red River Falls instead of riding as if their lives depended on it. “We can take rest there. It is close to the Guarding Mountains. I am sure we can discuss the road ahead while having a nice meal in one of the guest houses there.”  
“Won’t people recognize us?”, he asks, nervously fidgeting in his seat when his leg twinges in pain. Zhoumi next to him reaches out to tug down the strap of his saddle that has ridden up his thigh, chafing his skin through the material of his pants.   
“Even if they did, nobody would care.”, Tao shakes his head and slows down his horse, pulling hard on its reins. The animal follows easily, swaying to the right and off the Kingsroad onto a path that is more trampled earth than anything else. Luhan follows after a moment of hesitation, riding alongside Yixing, who hums a soft tune under his breath as his eyes are trained on the horizon, as if he is greeting the sun with a brilliant smile. He has seen this man fighting a war, bloody and cruel, but the man next to him seems different, so calm and gentle. It is hard to remember the ambassador smeared in grim and crimson, two short swords in his hands, spinning and cutting limb after limb.   
“Do you hope he will follow you?”, Yixing suddenly asks, cutting off his tune on a terribly shaky note and Luhan glances at him, one eyebrow raised. “Why would I?”  
The ambassador just gives him a knowing look, his kohl rimmed eyes dark in the white of his face. He stays mum for a moment, studying Luhans features, before he sighs and slumps in his saddle. “It must be horrible to have someone you love so much.”  
“Normally people consider love a beautiful thing.”, Luhan shoots back, disregarding all pretence and waving a hand at the Dune man, who just shakes his head. “Do they?”  
“Of course they do.”, Zhoumi cuts in from behind them and even Tao shoots them a side glance, clearly curious of their conversation. Yixing only cocks his head to the side, lifts one shoulder and hums, as if he is contemplating his next answer, that comes as soft as a whispering wind.    
“Love gives us life and family and a home where we belong, a purpose on our journey. If not for love, would any of us be here?”, Zhoumi adds to his words and Luhan nods in confirmation.   
Yixing still only hums at the mans words and Tao says: “None of us was born out of love. In the Dunes children are power. Like your father had a hundred sons, as they say, our fathers and mothers choose to have a child with the most powerful partner, to broaden their own.”   
“That is a terrible concept.”, Luhan answers him and Tao looks confused for a moment.   
“For you, perhaps. We don’t know it any other way.”, he shrugs and his light hair falls into his eyes when he turns away again. “We do not question why you people choose one person to love for the rest of your life, but you question us all the time.”  
They ride in silence for almost an hour, before Yixing speaks again, posing another question towards Luhan, who nearly winces at the mans voice, that sounds like he just woke from a long, horrible dream, hoarse and dry.  “But aren’t you cruel to him, because of your love to him?”  
“I am not.”, Luhan shoots back sharply and his reins make a sound under the balling of his fingers, knuckles hard underneath his gloves. “I do the right thing for him. Because the love we have for each other is nothing-”  
“Love is love, or so your Savior says.”, Yixing cuts him off and Luhan bites his bottom lip. “What is wrong about it? You can not have children, there will be no crossing of the same blood. If you would do this for him, you would have taken you with him. But you chose to run away, like you were afraid of him. Your true reason for this, my Lord, is nothing but your own pride, I would say.”   
“Yixing!”, Tao barks from the front and the other ambassador ducks his head, looking caught and nearly apologetic. “This is enough.”  
“It is.”, Luhan grits out and Yixing speeds up his horse to close up to Tao, who grips him by the neck and pulls him towards himself, hissing something in their own, lilting language.   
“If your reason is you love for him, my Lord.”, Zhoumi then says next to him while they both have their gazes trained on the men in front. “I will let you know that I myself have done cruel things in the name of it.” Luhan thinks to himself that he is not cruel. He is merciful. 

  
Aquash is just close enough to the Guardian, as Tao calls it, to see its shadow in the distance behind the beginnings of the desert. It’s shape is strange to Luhan, who is used to the hard stone mountains of Yongnian, all stone and black and snow. The top is flat, like a plateau, but even with the distance, its color is a soft brown, like the sand surrounding it.  
“The legends say that this mountain was once a tower, cut down with the sword of a God.”, Yixing explains to him, still not looking him in the eye, embarrassed by both his blurting earlier and the scolding he received from the other ambassador, who is apparently his superior, even though Yixing looks older than him. “The ruins on the other side of the Guardians is said to be the city of this tower.”  
“Is it a true legend?”, Luhan dares to ask and Yixing lifts his shoulders softly, almost shrugs. “Who knows? Aren’t all legends true, deep in the core?”  
Luhan would like to disagree, was it not for the Dragon he saw with his own eyes just a day ago.  
And yet it makes him question what else is true in the lores he was read as a child, in all those books he studied, in all the things he has already seen and never quite brought himself to believe.   
“It is us”, Yixing suddenly goes on as they unmount their horses, the ambassadors elegant fingers helping Luhan unbuckle the straps holding his leg straight against the flank of his horse. “Who chose not to believe in magic anymore, Lord Luhan. And it is us, who hunted down all those magical things in the world, refusing to acknowledge them after we destroyed them. We destroyed magic.”  
Tao pats him on the back as he passes them, saddlebags slung across his shoulders, muttering something in their native tongue that has Yixing rolling his eyes but ducking his head.   
“He thinks I am a fool for believing in magic.”, he explains silently to Luhan while he helps him off his horse, one hand steadying the Lord under the watchful gaze of his Commander.  “But how could I not? If your father invaded my country, searching for it and your brother has worn the cursed crown? I’ve seen magic happen in this world, Lord Luhan. So how could I not believe?”  
“I think.”, Luhan starts after a heartbeat, thinking of Sehuns blue glowing eyes and the things he said. “I might be a fool too, then. For I have seen it happen myself.”  
Yixing smiles a beaming smile at him then. 

 

The guest house in Aquash is small, the ceiling so low, Tao has to duck his head while they make their way through the tavern room - a chamber with bright burning furnaces, floor laid out thick with carpets of red and cold, lush under his feet while he strides across them, walking around little islands of throw cushions and tablets placed directly on the ground. No one spares a glance at them, whoever is awake at this time of the day either still drunk or simply too uncaring to look up at the group of four. It proves to be too difficult for him to lower himself to the floor to sit with his companions and so Tao simply pushes over a long bench, thickly lined with silk and cushions as soft as feathers as Luhan sinks into them, stretching out his aching knee with a sigh so deep it seems to rattle his bones. The joint between his shin and upper thigh is swollen thick even underneath his riding trousers, the kneecap tender to the touch and bruising and he grits his teeth while he tugs at the leather binds wrapped tightly around his leg to support his injured knee. It’s a binding he is wearing for years already now, the straps constantly renewed to provide him with the best bolster whenever he has to make it through a long day without sitting for longer periods.  Zhoumi, who sits next to him on the bench, places a hand on his elbow, pulling his hand away subtly from the bindings, eyes flickering in the dim light of the room while he sips on a wooden cup of goat milk, the rich texture tinting his lips white before he licks the residue away.   
“Can you make the ride?”, Tao asks him from where he is lounging on the floor, his long red robes pulling taut across his knee where his wrist rests against the bone, slender spider fingers loose and relaxed while they dangle in the air between them. He looks like a man who just emerged from a bath while Luhan himself is sure his own skin is ashen and his hair sweaty from the exertion of pain, the long ride having his muscles cramping and his insides churning. Before he took the spear to the leg, a journey like this would have been like a stroll through his gardens at Brightblade, although he never felt quite at home on a horses back like Minseok always did.  He was Lord of a Legion, not a Cavalry after all.   
“I can.”, he assures the ambassador, who exchanges a glance with Yixing, who is again humming under his breath. “But we need to lay down our route.”  
“We indeed do.”, Tao confirms softly and pulls out a scroll from the saddlebags he has thrown carelessly onto the floor next to the bench. It’s old, frayed at the edges, the parchment yellowed with age. It’s an  
ancient map of the continent, the Waking World sketched out roughly with ink and kohl. Luhan takes it from Tao when the other man hands it over to him, smoothes a hand over the old, silky surface of the paper. There are almost no cities marked on it, only a few dotting the map and Luhan lets his eyes travel over it, taking in the vast beauty of his Kingdom with almost gentle eyes.   
“This one is old.”, Zhoumi states next to him and Tao nods in affirmation.   
“It is one of the oldest maps in the Libraries of our capital city. It shows old passes and old borders none of us know about anymore.”, Yixing pipes up while he adjusts the pillows under his legs, the tips of his boots swaying from one side to the other as he threads his fingers through his short, blondish hair. “The wise route would lead us along the Slaves Blood. But the fastest roads from here would go through the ruins behind the Guardians and the desert.”  
“Slaves Blood?”, Luhan asks and looks up from the map, meeting Yixing confused eyes, who leans over the pillows to whisper something to Tao, who patiently answers him in a soft, hushed voice.   
“The Red River.”, Tao clarifies after a moment after Yixing makes a sound of understanding, giving Luhan a gentle smile. “Our name for it translates different than yours.”  
“It is a direct translation, I assume?”, the Golden Lord asks, ever curious and Yixing nods at him, looking a little uncomfortable. “Our people call it the Slaves Blood because of its original name.”  
“I assumed as much.”, Luhan almost snorts and Yixing looks like he caught between the need to blush and the need to roll his eyes. “But the desert would slow us down, wouldn’t it?”  
“Not if we take the roads through the ruins and towards the Galdian Pond to the spring of the Red River. The road is old, but it leads around the worst part of the moving Sandsea.”  
“Then it is truly the fastest road we could take.”, Zhoumi nods, one hand cradling his chin and Luhan nods along with him, chewing on his bottom lip. The ride will be hard, but so would every route be for him. A carriage would have surely made this easier for him, but he didn’t have much of a choice . Not if he didn’t want to fall into a trap of the Northmen, or be too slow to outrun Sehun, should the Blue Lord decide to follow him.   
“But I have to warn you.”, Tao says silently while he takes the scroll from Luhan with careful fingers, rolling it up tenderly and stuffing it back into it’s leather case. “The next city from here on that route would be Blindrun. It would be unwise to make detours just so we can sleep in soft beds.”  
He only nods at the ambassadors words, sighing. Camp nights would have to do.   
“I am aware of that.”, he answers after he notices that the man is staring at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. “But it is a wise choice. They expect us in two weeks time. Like this, we can surprise them after  
a week, if we ride hard.”  
“My Lord-”, Zhoumi starts, but Luhan lifts a hand to cut him off, followed by a hard glare.   
“ _ If we ride hard.”,  _ he repeats slowly, staring his Commander down with angry eyes. “It is our best chance to take a good rest in Blindrun and be at the prime of our strength when we face them. We have to outrun a Dragon, at worst.”  
And a silent voice inside his head tells him, that this is a fight already lost while his eyes flicker over the faces of his three companions in silence. 

 

Luhan needs to rest for longer than he anticipated. After he takes off the bindings on his knee, he finds it bruised dark black underneath his pants, the skin raw and thin as paper with the liquid underneath that pushes against the underside of his kneecap and renders his leg stiff more than it normally would be. He groans in pain as he limps down the corridor back into the tavern room, finding it even more deserted than before, with only one man occupying it, the rest of the customers having taken their leave seemingly. Yixing sits by one of the fires, staring into the flames with unseeing eyes and Luhan sinks into the sofa next to the man, longing for the heat of something familiar in this brightly colored room.  They sit there for a couple of moments, Luhan lost to his thoughts while Yixing mutters under his breath in his old, foreign language that always has the hair in the back of Luhans neck rising.   
“What are you saying?”, he asks after he watches Yixing break off little crumbs of the flat bread resting on his lap and tossing them into the fire. He’s seen Sehun do that with little nuts, watching them pop and splinter in the coals and embers. Yixing jolts, as if he didn’t notice Luhan sitting there next to him and he clears his throat a little uncomfortably, giving the Golden Lord a tight smile.   
“It’s an old poem.”, he explains slowly, shifting. “Something that went through my mind ever since I saw the Dragon land at the gate of Red River Falls.”  
“Is there a translation for it?”, Luhan inquires, suddenly embarrassed he never bothered with learning the Sandland language, even though his advisers urged him to. Yixing leans his head to the side slightly, studying him with bright, wide eyes and then he purses his lips.   
“A rough one, I think.”, he begins then, slowly, as if testing Luhans reaction. “Should I recite it to you?”  
“Anything to take my mind off of my thoughts.”, Luhan answers him with a wave of his hand and Yixings features darken. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How we can not be without a person and can not stand their  
presence in the same breath we long to kiss them.”  
Luhan choses not to answer and Yixing makes a soft, wet sound as if he is laughing around tears. The silence drags on and Luhan thinks the ambassador might have forgotten about the poem, before he begins to speak once more.   
“I have lain with man and beast.”, he starts and Luhan sinks back against the backrest of the sofa they are sitting on, his hands cupping the swollen round of his knee in absentminded thought. “Of both the heaven and the sea. And I vowed to Gods of old, a promise sealed with blood of gold. My skin bears marks of ink and scale, Prince I am of ancient tale. A hand to hold in timeworn oath, my heart beats like a drum for both. And as the pledge is set in gold, I can only know what I am told. For the sky might break and I have burned the skin adorn, nothing left but my soul of thorns.”  
For a long breath, Luhan doesn’t realize Yixing has finished, sitting silently and prone next to him, fingers tossing bread into the flames in front of them.   
“It’s a strange poem.”, he confesses then, quietly and Yixing laughs. “It is. But only in your language. The symbolism is quite different in my own mother tongue.”  
“Is it?”, Luhan wants to know and turns on the sofa so he can pull his leg up and rest his throbbing knee on the cushions. Yixing follows the movement with a glance and Luhan can see the question burning on his tongue written all over his soft, gentle features.   
“I took a spear to the knee.”, he tells the man in a hushed tone and Yixings mouth opens around a silent  _ ah.  _ “It was before we took the lands of the Moving Mountains, a battle by the Narrow of the peninsula. I remember… I remember my horse dying and it was the only thing I cared about, even while my brothers struggled to save me from being trampled by Minseoks cavalry.”  
“I was told about this battle.”, Yixing replies slowly, ripping off another piece of bread and flicking it away. It goes up in flames with a sizzle. “They said Prince Chanyeol attempted to cut off your leg, but his sword wouldn’t penetrate your skin.”  
Luhan laughs. He already heard most of the stories the people tell each other about that day, from him returning from the dead, to King Minseok personally pulling him out of the battle after Luhan slaughtered hundreds of men in his rage for killing his horse. The truth, though, is far less flattering - and while he wanted to kill all of their enemies for slaying his beloved stallion, he wouldn’t have been able to back then.   
“Nothing like that.”, he shakes his head with a snort and presses two fingers against the side of his leg where he can still feel the indent of the spear left in his flesh. “It hit me right here, piercing through my entire leg and barely missing the bone, all the way into my horses flank. It broke my right leg too when it fell, but I was lucky not to get crushed under it. I was furious with anger when my brothers were able to  
get me.”  
“So Prince Chanyeol didn’t try to cut off your leg?”, Yixing asks, sounding amused and Luhan catches the smile fluttering across his lips, just a twitch of the corners. “No. He chopped the spear so they could pull it out of my leg. I passed out soon after that.”  
“And ever since you weren’t able to ride into war anymore.”, the ambassador whispers then, brushing crumbs off his robes, the bread completely devoured by flames. 

“Indeed.”

“We lost a great foe that day.”, Yixing tells him with a chuckle. “My General was livid when the news reached us. He swore to kill you himself, the only person who ever managed to break through his formations, the Golden Lord, God of Death. He demanded our army to march against the mountain island soon after, but the Ruling Sisters prevented him from doing so.”  
Luhan remembers this as well. Zhoumi told him while he laid in bed, angry at the world, at fate, at his father for cuffing him to Brightblade, just because he wasn’t able to bring glory to his name anymore.   
Those days are blurred together in his head, the hours he spent staring up at the painted ceiling, listening to the waves underneath his terrace crashing against stone and shore.   
Hours and days and months hating first his father and then himself. His body, the crippled state a simple piece of wood left him in. And he remembers wishing he would be dead like his horse. Anything would  
be better than this.   
“I was told, the King sent Prince Sehun to train under you.”, Yixing goes on, as if this was the most pleasant conversation he ever had in his life, idly playing with the long sleeves of his red robes. They were  
made of thick linen, embroidered at every seam and edge, simple black thread against the deep crimson of the fabric. “If you don’t mind me asking… how?”  
“How?”, Luhan echoes and leans to the side so he can look at the other man, knee throbbing with the movement. “How I was able to train him? With the state I am in, you mean.”  
Yixing has the decency not to even look apologetic. He just smiles sweetly and inclines his head in a single nod. Luhan sighs deeply and slumps back against the cushions of the low sofa, fingers working over his knee to loosen the muscles and take away the pressure on his kneecap.   
“I..”, he starts, fumbling for words. “Just did. He didn’t need much training. He’s a child of the Barren Hills. They are trained from a very young age.”   
Yixing hums, lifting one shoulder and reaches to the ground to take his cup of wine, taking a delicate sip while he stares into the fire. The pondering quiet between them is comfortable and for once Luhan can brush aside the nagging in the back of his head, the feeling of not being made for this.   
Perhaps it’s because he is in the wild again, riding towards certain death that always waited for him.   
'Yixing by his side stays mum for a long time and Luhan is sure they could sit here the entire day without exchanging another single word.   
And yet, this is exactly what had Luhan restless in Brightblade, sitting there and doing nothing, just watching Sehun train in the courtyard even though he always was a magnificent warrior. Mindless conversations, hours spent looking into the fire that danced like Sehun with his swords. 

 

Sehun has ink on his back, black and deep, a stark contrast against his skin where it scarred over with the cuts of the little blades used to push the ink into his flesh - intricate patterns and tiny lines of pitch black, criss-crossing in scales and runes down his spine and over his shoulders, all the way over the swell of the muscles bulging in his shoulders and upper arms.   
Luhan has run his fingers over them countless times, even dug his fingernails into them and left his own marks on the Blue Lords back - in pain, in pleasure and sometimes in anger - and while he thought in the beginning that the lines must be rough to the touch, the lines rising under his fingertips when he lies on his side and traces the scales on Sehuns spine, they are smooth and just silken, even if they are scars filled with color. He has soon discovered that Sehun goes pliant under his touch when ever he runs his hands down over the tattoos and sometimes they spent nights filled with talking and Luhan painting on his back, all the way down to the dimples in Sehuns lower back and up again. It might be his favorite part of Sehun, the designs cut deep into him, the hidden meanings he doesn’t understand and Sehun never bothered to explain to him.  And so he just admires them while imagining what it must be like to have them created, what pain it must bring to being cut open and covered in black.   
“I chose to wear your scars.”, Sehun says whenever Luhans fingernails leave marks on him, whenever he scratches him bloody and raw. “Without my permission, there will never be a scar left on those markings  
and tattoos.”  
Another thing Luhan doesn’t understand about Sehun, but he wonders in silence, knowing that he will never get the answers to his questions - and if he does, it’s all on Sehuns own terms.   
It’s always been like this between them and Luhan never argues about it.  How could he not accept Sehun with all his cryptic sentences, his anger and desperation sometimes when he wakes in the middle of the night from a horrible dream, not understand what he saw in his nightmares that always become truth. It would be easier, if Sehun wasn’t the way he is.   
If only he couldn’t accept Luhans own hatred, the hardness of his voice, the even harder lines of his body he trains so hard to keep even though he is useless in battle. Oh, if only Sehun couldn’t accept that Luhan throws him onto his back without effort, can press him down into the sheets and steal the breath from his lungs, as if he needs the air Sehun breathes so he can live.   
But Sehun does and it makes everything so much harder for Luhan. It makes it hard to be soft sometimes, just wanting to feel small against Sehuns side when the younger wraps an arm around him and pulls him close, although he is fast asleep.  And it makes it all the more difficult for him to break away from the younger Prince, to leave him behind. But it doesn’t matter. Not when Sehuns skin is soft and warm against his hands, while his own feels like it’s bruising with a freezing cold. He feels like he is swallowing ice.   
He could forget the end of the world, if Sehuns lips taste like blueberry wine like they do, always so soft and pliant under Luhans, even though he is the one on his back with the Prince hovering over him.   
It scares him. The way Sehun makes him forget about everything, even his hatred for his crippled body, the Kingdom and everything else in the world except for the feeling of their breath mingling and their hearts beating in synchronicity. He wakes up with a thundering heart, skin sticky with sweat and his old battle wounds twinging in torment. Out of instinct he reaches out to the other side of the bed, searching for Sehun, only so he can grasp his brothers hand and breathe through the pain. 

Of course the other side of his small bed is empty, his hand reaching into nothingness across the frame of the simple straw mattress. Sehun is hundreds of miles away, he remembers with a pained heart and rolls over so he can sit up, burying his face between his hands, trying to calm his breathing. Sehun is so far away, probably worried sick about him.  
He tries to tell himself that this is exactly what he wanted, that he is exactly where he is supposed to be and that he is doing the right thing for his brother. He can’t though.   
What good is there in his pain, in his aching heart? In  _ their  _ aching hearts?

 

There is a village, hidden deep in the mountains behind Ice Reach, so close to the Thundering Sea, you can always hear the lightning ripping apart the sky. It’s dark and cold and the light snowfall catches in his pitch black hair as he walks slowly across the white-covered paths between the simple wooden huts, shadows lining each window where the candles flicker. He didn’t even know this village existed, let alone so close to his brothers home. There are drums beating in the darkness of the settlement and he feels each beat resonate on his skin, as if it’s calling for his heart to be in complete synchronization to them. He swallows, feels snow fall onto his skin where his high fur collar isn’t covering all of his skin and he hears the leather of his gloves creak as he balls his fist.   
So deep inside the mountains, it’s as if the world is far away, as if these houses and drums are part of a different world. There, in the middle of the village is a hall, long and stretched even in the darkness, the high roof covered in straw and wood, the head of a wooden Dragon throning above the door as he walks up the broad stairs leading up to it. The gate swings open as he presses both his palms against the frozen wood, without a sound parting for him so he can step into the hall, his cloak billowing out behind him, black as the night itself.   
Everything in here is dark as well, even though there are flames lining each wall, are dripping from the ceiling like molten ice. His boots scrunch over bones and broken glass, over wood and sizzling straw and flakes away under his steps, brushed away by the wind that breathes through the hall.   
He walks, looking up at the world that stretches beyond the hall - wide mountains and then the sea.   
Behind him he can hear them whisper, the voices he hears in his dreams calling for him, saying his name in awe, in horror, in adoration. One of them, they hiss to each other and he turns his head to look, only to be met by the dark of a night without a moon.   
No moon, no fire, no candle, no light.   
“Please.”, he hears Luhans voice there, in the shadows, begging for his life and he hears chains rattle as the black mists part and the Golden Lord steps out, just a ghost of himself then, hollowed cheeks and bloody hands, cuts deep in his arms where he tried to rip himself free of those chains. “Kill me.”  
“No more, no more.”, a second voice whispers into his ear and he whips his head around once more, looks away from the broken Prince standing there, begging to an invisible body.   
He walks on, steps across the bodies littering the way like fallen autumn leaves, red robes soaked in blood and drizzled with ashes.   
“Not the enemy, not the enemy.”  
“Let us go, we beg you. No more, no more.”  
“Please.”  
He breathes in the smell of death, pungent on his tongue like he is breathing fire and the hall falls away behind him, ripped in half by what seemed to be giant claws. The earth around him is strewn with scales and crystals and wood and death and he holds his breath, stills his steps. There.   
Down a small slope behind the hall he sees it, a giant black beast on its hinds, wings fluttering and long front paws clawing at the air as it breathes fire at a single knight.   
“Run!”, the man screams at someone behind him and he watches as if he is in a daze, as tiny figures hurry away from the melting silver shield. Stumbling, tumbling, staggering.   
He watches it all - the knight as he falls and brings down his sword, cutting deep lines into broken, burned earth. The fleeing figures, how they are seized by hands of darkness, put into chains of bones. He has to turn away then, can’t watch how they are forced onto their knees and dragged across the ashen ground, away into the black.   
He can’t watch.  
Failure.  
The feeling hits him hard in the chest and he stops where he walks back towards the hall, a hand placed over his heart as if it’s racing, but when his fingers clench into the soft leather of his vest, there is no beat underneath his fingertips. His heart is still.

He stumbles. 

“Not the enemy.”, a voice groans in his ear.  
“No more, no more, please.”, another follows and his head starts spinning.   
“Please, please, please.”, he hears Luhan beg from the hall and he nearly falls to his knees as he wills his muscles to move, his feet to drag over the snow and ashes. “Don’t do this.”  
“What are you doing here?”, he hears the voices hiss and tear at his mind. “Turn back, go away! This is no place for you to be! You can’t be here! This knowledge is not for you. Go, go, go, little boy.”  
He keeps walking, his steps leading him back up towards the broken hall that is filled with little specks of blue light and mists full of lurking ghosts.   
When he steps into the building, all sounds cease. The drums, the screaming beast behind him, the shouts, the voices. The crackling flames even, as they freeze around his feet, purple and orange and blue where they touch his feet and his cloak.   
“What are you doing here?”, Luhan whispers from the floor, but he knows that it’s not the Golden Lords voice. He heard that voice a thousand times both waking and dreaming.   
The figure melts away with the wind and he is left alone in the hall. A soft whisper meets his ears then, the rustling of dresses and robes and he stands still, looking down at the field of flames created only for him. The rustling is faint then, just behind him and when he turns, his eyes meet another pair. The eyes sit round and wide in a white face, pale like the moon and gentle in its slopes and curves. Softly bowed  
lips, straight nose and eyebrows. The woman standing there is as white as a ghost and yet he knows she is not. She is real. Too real inside his head.   
“Who are you?”, she asks him and her voice is soft and faint, a gentle caress after those hissing, screaming voices inside his mind. “How did you enter my dream?”  
She’s a brittle looking little thing, all thin wrists and thin fingers, but there is a certain grace to the way her body moves, her fingers lacing together in front of her abdomen as she regards him with a long, curious look. When she cocks her head to the side, the flowers on her forehead shift and even in the darkness of this world, the infinite colors of them are stunning. Roses and cornflowers as soft as spun silk are lined up along her white forehead, framed by little red dots that are painted onto her skin, over the straight line of her eyebrows and bowing along her temples. But the crown that sits behind those flowers is terrible in its beauty. It reminds him of the crown their King is wearing now, only that the spikes that twist up from the back of her head are not made of crystals, but gold, little nets like ornaments and claws stretching from the curls and knots of her hair over her head like a creature is holding her skull between its talons - but at the same time it’s like a sun rising from the ink of her silken strands.   
“You should not be here.”, she echoes one of the voices inside his head and he takes a step forward, even though his legs want to take one back. Her fingers tighten, her knuckles turn white and she steps back, a look of fear crossing her elven-like features. “Are you one of them?”  
“One of who?”, he asks her softly and she shakes her head, little bells chiming where they are flying around her face on woven and braided strands of her hair.  
“Wanderers.”, she answers him and her voice is so soft, so young that it makes his heart ache for a reason he doesn’t understand. He wants to reach out to her, as if his blood is caught in an ancient calling. “Are you?”  
“No.”, he answers her hesitantly and her eyes flicker over his face and away over his shoulder.    
“They are coming for me.”, she whispers, sounding hollow and a shadow shrouds her like a beast laying its wing over her. “They are coming for my head. It’s not going to work. I can  _ see  _ you.”  
A hand clamps down on his shoulder and he startles, ripped away from the hall and the swirling mists that start to eat everything up like waves, blue and black and frightening.   
He’s turned around by that hand, the grip strong and unforgiving and he gasps as his mouth is filled with liquid gold, blocking the air from flowing in.   
The last thing he sees before he sinks into the gold is a man, as tall as himself and with equally dark hair. But oh, his eyes - eyes that flicker like sapphires and lightning, dark where they sit above his cheekbones that are lines with little flickering bursts of sparks, a downturned mouth that is full and hard. And as the world around him spins and spins and spins, a lightning races over the sky above his head, illuminating the form of a flying creature that fights against a raging storm.   
But it casts a light on the man too, golden skin bathed in white and for a moment he thinks he saw the same shadow on the mans face he saw on the feeble Queens features.   
The voices grow loud in his ears and he thinks he might go crazy with them, but the strangers lips are moving and although none of the words reach his ears, he is sure that those voices come from him. They scream, they hiss and screech and he screams with them, trying to break free from the hold the man has on him. Wanderer, she said.   
Wanderer.   
He is facing Death.

Death. 

 

For the second time in those short few weeks, Sehun awakes with a scream, but this time it’s not because of a nightmare brought by the war, not by those flickering dreams he can’t grasp when he’s awake. He half expects that stranger to sit by his bed, looking at him, but his chambers are bare and empty and there is no one but him, screaming at the top of his lungs.   
Failure, death.   
“They are coming for my head, but I can see you.”  
Oh Gods, what did he do? What did they sent Luhan off to?   
_ She.  _ She’s like him.   
With a cut-off sound he swings himself out of bed, skin crawling as if he swallowed spiders and he doesn’t even notice how hard his heart is beating under his ribs, the movement of the muscle so strong, it makes his chest rise and fall in a rapid beat. Drums.   
The falcon screeches when he enters the stables to saddle his horse and Sehun watches it flap uselessly where it’s tied down in his cage, a tight leather string around its claw to keep it in place.   
The animal always hated him, but now he doesn’t have a choice. He knows Luhan made a run for it so he wouldn’t follow and while he is sure that his brother took a different route, just to shake him off, he has no time to spare with asking around for him.   
The wise choice would be to stay behind and wait for the message, break all hell loose on the Northmen in the moment his brother takes his last dying breath. He can’t.  
Not now, not ever.   
He takes a breath and steps towards the cage, watches the falcon fall silent as if it’s in shock. Their eyes meet and even though it’s dark and the night is full of clouds, he can see the animals heart beating  
rapidly. As if it’s facing a predator.   
“Find him.”, he tells the falcon, that cocks its head at him and blinks - first one eye and then the other. They stare, Sehun breathless and the falcon still and then it spreads its wings and takes flight, fluttering to the gates of the stables and sitting on top of one of the metal doors.   
To leave it behind, Sehun muses while he mounts his horse, thighs flexing with the familiar feeling of the stallions mighty muscles under them. For Luhan to leave his falcon behind… it means he never intended to come back. He never wanted to return. 

“Go.”, he tells the falcon as he passes the gates and rides out into the light drizzle that falls from the sky, the Red River rushing in the distance and creating white noise in Sehuns head.   
The falcon opens its break and cries out, just as it rises from the gate with quick strokes of his wings and flies. Sehun doesn’t watch as the regal animal disappears into the sky, knows that it will lead him  
towards its master. And Red River Falls grows distant behind him as the falcon flies. 

 


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I know it's kinda short but bear with me ok? I am struggling with life right now (being a student and working at the same time, y'all know the feeling don't you?) the content in this chapter is kinda of just an initiation to the things that will TRULY matter now so just... kinda sit through it?   
> If you liked it despite my lack of length and such, please leave a comment. Authors are hoes for comments.

Chapter 3: Beast and man 

  
  


The winds that blow through the cracks of his cell are cold, biting as ice and snow and he shivers, searching for the heat inside his soul, the spark of fire that normally ignites his body from deep within. It’s empty. The aching spot the death of his wife left inside his chest is bruised, an open wound that pains him until he thinks his entire being is nothing but agony and ache.  
His fingertips have turned bloody and blue from where he tried to claw his way his way through the iron bars and wooden planks they built his cage of.  To see how long he can withstand the cold, like a dog of war that is leashed and collared.  On the other side of the courtyard he can see the other cell, can make out his daughters soft black hair swaying in the wind of the North, the way her dress whispers around her.   
She stands there, looking up at the sky and her eyes are filled with a longing that resonates through his own body, like an echo he can feel across the courtyard and deep inside his bones.   
Her little brother is curled up in the flimsy furs the Northmen tossed into the cage, his tiny hands holding on tight to the book he carried out with him before the castle went up into flames.   
Yifan doesn’t know what else they lost, how many lives were sacrificed that night just for those… barbarians to get their hands on him. The chains around his wrists are biting deep into his skin, leaving bloody skin and chaffed flesh and he groans when he moves, pushing his hands against the bars of his cell when the woman with the short hair passes his cage and casts him a long, amused glance. He could be free and yet he chooses to stay in his cage, staring out at his children even though they never look at him.   
His daughter moves her head, her hair falling into her face and she brushes it away - a movement that reminds him so terribly of her mother although she looks like him. She shifts, restless and he sees her hands ball into little fists, her eyes tracking the path of two ravens that are flying over the broken castle.  And then she stills, breathes in deep and her face turns ever so slightly. Their eyes meet across the courtyard and Yifan scrambles up onto his knees, hands gripping the bars of his cage tight, as if he is able to rip them out of the tick wooden bottom.   
But his daughter just cocks her head to the side, she blinks and turns away once more.   
Yifan wants to call out for her, wants to reach out and take his children into his arms. Oh, if only they let him. Even for just a minute so he would know they are alive and well, not just ghosts his mind procures for him so he wouldn’t lose it.  The woman with the short hair walks back across the courtyard, carrying a big sturdy looking saddle with her and she kicks the side of Yifans cage with the heel of her leather boot.   
He looks up at her, into her impossibly beautiful face that is framed by beats and little dots of color.   
“If you ride with me, everything will be over soon. We will let them go, if you submit to our Queen.”  
“I could never do that.”, he bites out and flinches at how rough his own voice sounds. “That would mean riding against my own brothers.”  
The woman rolls her eyes and leaves, muttering something under her breath he doesn’t quite catch.  He watches her for a moment before a movement on the battlement catches his eye. 

It’s  _ her.  _

Her long silken hair is braided around the back of her head, coiling like a snake and holding together the crown of bones and gold she is wearing, the spikes of it pushed deep into the strands of her hair. It’s as black as the night, like the hair of his people from the North.  She is wearing simple furs that are draped around her neck, her bare arms white as the snow around her where she stands on the battlement, eyes scanning the horizon and he sees the blue glow burning deep inside of them. He knows that look.  He knows what it means.  “No!”, he screams at her and she winces, whips around to face him. “Don’t do this!”   
“They are coming for my head.”, she answers him from above and her voice carries across it all. Through the silence of Ice Reach that is nothing but a graveyard now. “You will understand that I will prevent that. There is more at stake than just you and me, Black Lord.”  
“Even if you send someone to kill them, they will not give up until you are dead.”, Yifan replies and the Queen smiles at him, the blue in her eyes flickering to life once more.   
“I know.”  
The roar of the Dragon rips them both away from each other, long talons curling across the battlement where the Queen stands, a head rising behind her, the claws of the beast framing her, dwarfing her and yet Yifan has never seen something more frightening.  She smiles as the Dragon raises its wings and swings itself up onto the battlement, the short-haired woman on its back holding on tight.   
“Bring me the Golden Lord. Kill the others.”, the Queen orders and her eyes are still on Yifan where he kneels in his cage, blood crusted along the side of his neck and face. “And if you see one of the other Lords…. Kill them too. Burn them all, Amber.”  
“Yes, my Queen.”, the woman on the Dragons back bows her head and Yifan holds his breath, watches as the Dragon lifts itself up into the air with ease, mighty wings whipping up snow.   
The furs around the Queens body move with the wind, her skirts flutter around her legs and she still smiles while she lifts her head and looks after the black beast as it rises higher and higher into the sky.   
“You should have agreed.”, she tells Yifan after a moment of silence and he scoffs, tries to look away, but the blue fire in her eyes holds him still, has him holding his breath even. “Now you have brought fire and death over your Kingdom. And all of this is your fault and your fault alone.”   
  


Blindrun lies silent yet alive between the hills where the Red River has its origins. The water flows loud from between the hills, under the bridges of the houses that are spanning across the little arms of the river, smoke curling softly from the straw roofs of the little stone huts the people in the North prefer over the large buildings of the South and West.  
It’s a small town,  just big enough to be one instead of just a village. Notherners don’t like big cities like Silver Haven and while Luhan rides through the streets, he suddenly understands why Minseok felt crowded and stifled for the first few months in the Capital. The people here are timid and silent, ignoring the travelers as they walk to and fro, following their daily work, just glancing up at them as they pass, only to shrug it off and returning to their tasks.  Luhan feels like a bruise when they reach the city by the break of their fifth day, the joint of his knee swollen so thick, the seams of his pants are about to rip apart, leaving deep ridges in his skin and he can feel them leaving imprints in his flesh.   
He wished for Sehuns hands those past few days and nights, whenever Zhoumi pressed crushed, wet herbs into his skin and wrapped him up in tight, white bandages. He wished so desperately for the warmth of his brothers hands, his arms, his body in the cold of the desert night. He can still feel the pain of it, can still taste the salt of his own tears on his tongue from when he swallowed them down.   
Now though, in the light of day, he knows that it is just the best that his brother didn’t follow him, no matter how many times he looked over his shoulder to see if he could spot a rider in the distance. 

No rider. 

No Sehun.

He knows it’s foolish to even think about it. They took a route Sehun wouldn’t know, riding along the remainders of the Kingsroad in the desert and no sane person would take that route, if they had the choice of simply riding beyond the borders of Yongnian, use the streets from Red River Falls all the way to Blindrun along the river.  If Sehun would have followed him, he would never reach them in time.   
In time for what, Luhan asks himself as he limps into yet another guesthouse, flanked by Tao and Yixing, Zhoumi having hurried ahead to pay for their rooms and a hot bath for the Golden Lord.   
He desperately needs it.   
His body is nothing but pain, it feels like every little fiber of his being is filled with it and he drinks it down like water. It was a welcomed pain, in the beginning. A shadow of something from a past Luhan feels is slipping away from him. With every single day spent in Brightblade, withering away like a golden bird in a cage.   
“Strange times for you to come to the North.”, the innkeeper grumbles out while he serves Luhan his meal, unceremoniously dropping loaves of bread and plates filled with steamed vegetables onto their low, old table. “People travel South these days, instead of up North.”  
“Why?”, Luhan immediately asks before Zhoumi can stop him. They are traveling incognito after all and his Commander is shooting him an angry glance. The innkeeper looks at him with raised, bushy eyebrows and straightens, the perfect picture of a man out of a fairy tale. He strokes a hand over the side of his apron, already dirty around his waist, while he asserts Luhan with a long, long gaze.   
“Because they say the Northmen are on another raid. This time even far enough South to clash with the Black Legion. We don’t know for sure. But some travelers even say they saw a strange black beast above the mountains. By Ice Reach. And nobody has seen the Black Lord for weeks already.”  
“They even say, the castle was burning.”, another guest pipes up from the table beside theirs, ducking low over his jug of beer, eyes nervously flickering to and fro in the small tavern. “If you listen closely, there are screams in the wind.”  
“That is nonsense.”, the innkeeper gruffs and gives the mans chair a hearty kick. “You should drink your ale and hold your tongue, fool. Screams in the wind. You’re nothing but a drunkard.”  
“It is true, though.”, a woman by the fire says, rubbing her hands together above the flames. She’s nothing but skin and bones and the skin of her cheeks is red and blistered from the cold she traveled through.   
“The black beast is flying across the frozen desert for days already. As if it’s waiting for something. It disappears and comes back again, but whenever people tried to follow it, they never came back.”  
“Those sound like stories you tell to children to scare them.”, Zhoumi scoffs and bites into a piece of bread with vigor, but there is a nervous flicker in his eyes. Like the flame of a candle.   
“Maybe.”, the woman whispers, turning back to the flames. “But I saw the villages burn in the North.”  
Luhan feels a shiver run down his spine.   
“There are always drums in the distance.”   
  


Summers in Brightblade are humid - the only relief from the glaring heat of the day the gentle breezes of the ocean. The tide is always higher in the hot season, the shores of Suns Keep white with foam and bubbles of saltwater. Those days were always spent in the shelter of parasols and the thick walls of the low, long stone buildings of the city, or in the shadows of Brightblade, underneath the trees in the garden right in the center of the castle. The porticos were always the arenas Luhan chose to battle invisible enemies with his training sword, practicing the steps his teachers and instructor taught him. Zhoumi always watched, sitting on the low walls lining the porticos, correcting the young Prince with gentle but firm words. It was always as if the Lord was dancing, feet tracing patterns into the dusty earth and over stones. He was good with the sword, both longsword and shortsword, talented with bow and arrow, but exceptional with the halberd. It was Luhans favorite from the moment his teachers showed him how to use it, first letting him use a short spear, then later a weapon with a broad, cruel blade at the tip, the back adorned with a steel tip just as deadly.   
He had cut himself on both ends several times and at the age of fifteen, Zhoumi had stopped counting how many scars his young Lord bore on arms and torso alike. How many garments had the boy, who was slowly growing into a man, ripped into shreds while practicing with the halberd, although his advisors and teachers told him that, maybe, this weapon was not for him?   
Luhan insisted, objected with each of their worries and he tried even harder to master this weapon when they sent a letter to the Kind, informing him about his unruly, stubborn son.  
The King never sent an answer to that letter - and oh, Luhan knew about that, watching his advisors and representatives wait every day for a herold from Silver Haven, who never came.   
Zhoumi watched his young Lord as the boy watched the men who were ruling over the Golden Tides in his stead until he became of age.  How fast he was growing up, the Commander always thought to himself while watching over him. How fast the stubborn child melted away into an even more stubborn man, who was noble and elegant, carrying his robes with grace.   
But oh, he was born for the armor, just like his mother said before she died in her bed - left Zhoumi with nothing but blood to mourn over. A blue baby, who grew up too fast for Zhoumis liking, until he was faced with a Lord, a warrior, who knew no joy but killing.   
Who mastered the halberd to a point at which no one was able to beat him.   
And Zhoumi vowed to ride with him into each and every battle, to always stay by his side, until Death would come to claim him, just like he promised to the dying Grace of Brightblade, while held her screaming newborn son in his arms and watched her die. Yet, after years of training, Luhan didn’t need him. The boy who came running with bloody knees and sometimes a bloody nose, clinging to Zhoumis robes crying and wailing at the top of his lungs, was gone. There was nothing left of him, but maybe the sound of his laughter by the fire at night after a battle ending victorious. Zhoumi mourned his loss too.   
Perhaps he should have hated him in the beginning, for taking the Grace of Brightblade away from them all - her beauty, her wisdom, her spirit that was as strong as her sword.   
He never did, hate the boy.   
No, quite the opposite. He loved him in her stead, as if his love for the child could replace a mothers warmth, having raised him and trained him and taught him all the things he needed to survive in a world where everybody was lusting after his blood.   
Luhan didn’t need him anymore, though.   
And Zhoumi was content just watching him, waiting for his Lord to finally grow tired of the fighting, seeking another reason to live than just the armor and the weapon, the blood of countless armies he spilled on the earth of Yongnian. He waited for it to happen, for the young man to fall in love with the beauty of a girl - or even a man - and settle, to have a reason to come home to the Golden Tides, instead of running into every fight at the first chance he got, as if he was longing to die out there.   
Zhoumi never saw it happen, in the end. He saw Luhans reasons fade, one after the other.    
No more people who needed him, so he rode into battle for his father, seeking approval and love where he had no chance of finding it. The young boy never saw that he already had that approval, already had that love, already had someone who was proud of him. It never mattered, oh, for Zhoumi was never the man Luhan so desperately tried to impress.   
_ He  _ was the one carrying Luhans body back to Suns Keep, the one to force him to live on.   
Not the King, who couldn’t care less for any of his sons. Zhoumi endured Luhans screaming and cursing, the cups and bowls and plates thrown at his head to keep him out of the room Luhan was forced to stay in while his knee festered and scarred, while his body was shaking with a fever that was sent by the Hells themselves.   
He had desperately tried, back then, to give Luhan a reason to live. Not a reason to fight, but to live.  
Everybody knew that their strongest soldier was lost, that the mind that won them their wars was now gone with depressing oblivion. But they never saw it, the desperation in Luhans gaze whenever he looked at his armor, at his weapon, at his crippled leg. And oh, Zhoumi had cursed the King to the Hells and back for sending that other boy to them - to send another Prince for Luhan to train, as if the old man was rubbing the Golden Lords failure into his face with glee.   
He hated that boy, just like he loved Luhan.   
Zhoumi can’t even recall how many times he wanted to slap the Prince for degrading his beloved Lord, for calling him a cripple and shunning him with reckless scorn and contempt.  
He doesn’t remember either, when it changed. Everything changed before his very eyes and he was blind to not see it - where it was so obvious anybody could easily follow the things that happened at Brightblade, in their beloved Golden Lords heart. He had a reason to live again and Zhoumi hadn’t been able to give that to him. Someone else did.   
And maybe, he thought, accepting that the time had come for him to leave his Lords side and step back, the time had finally come to tell Luhan his own, biggest secret. Because now, after all those years, Zhoumi wasn’t the one Luhans eyes sought in a crowded room. He didn’t need to keep the Golden Lord alive anymore - against his own will or with his approval. Sehun did. 

  
He wakes to the smell of smoke.  
It’s soft, like a blown out candle, just tingling his nose and for a moment he thinks it’s because the fireplace in his room has finally burned out. But there is heat dancing along the naked skin of his arms and he groans when he sits up. The blinds of his room are closed tight and yet he can see the flicker of orange flames through the gap between them - just a thin sliver of light that falls across the rough, wooden floor of the chambers he occupies in the inn. With a swift movement of his arm, he throws the blanket off of himself and strides over to the window, ripping the plank-blinds open. What greets him is like an image of the Six Hells. Blindrun is alight with flames. But it is silent, like a grave.   
There are no people running in the streets, not a single sound and for a moment he stares, looking down into the sea of flames that greeted him when he opened the window. The wind that brushes over his arms and upper body is hot and cold at once, like the tough of a ghost and he shivers. Then he hears it. In the distance of the lake, there are people screaming. It’s so far away, he can barely hear it. But the flames - oh the flames, they are as loud as every shouting could ever be. It’s what lurks in the distance that draws his eyes to it, then.   
A black mass, moving behind the curtain of light that falls away from the flames and onto the dark surface of the lake of Blindrun, the water rippling in large, mighty waves.   
The Dragon.   
Another stream of flames ignites the night and he holds his breath, his knuckles turning white where he is gripping the windowsill. He whips himself around them, after he watches the Dragon stalk through the flames and into the city, the screaming finally growing louder.   
With quick movements he throws on his tunic and armor, buckles his sword to his side and exits his room, leaving behind his bags and all the other things he doesn’t need. Doesn’t need to get them all out alive of this damn city. Perhaps it was foolish, to come here.   
It was the best choice for them, though. They didn’t have a choice, if they wanted to be able to rest properly so they could cover the last distance to Ice Reach with their energy high and their bodies and minds at ease. He bursts into the room next door without knocking, the door crashes loudly into the wall behind it.   
Luhan is already sitting up on the mattress, his long dark hair falling over his shoulders like a black curtain and he stops for a moment, taking in a deep breath.   
He looks so much like his mother.   
Soft, unguarded, eyes bright in his pale, pale face.   
“We have to go.”, Zhoumi announces and Luhan blinks at him, rubbing one of his eyes, stifling a yawn. “The Dragon found us before we made it. The city is already burning.  
“We have to help, not leave them.”, the Golden Lord insists and Zhoumi wants to slap him. Always so stubborn. Another trade inherited from his mother, aside from his impossible beauty.   
“There is nothing we can do, Luhan.”, the Commander insists while he is already pulling the sleep-drunken Lord from his bed, shoving him into his armor and fastening all the buckles and belts for him, fixing the mans sword to his waist. “We are four people who can fight, not an entire Legion. If Yifans army fell facing this beast, there is nothing, _we_ can do. Fighting it would be foolish. We should run and hope that we will make it to Ice Reach before this beast does.”  
“As if we could outrun a Dragon.”, Luhan hisses him, pushing him away and tying up his hair in defiance. His eyes are burning with anger. “The four of us are easily lost in this city. The Dragon came alone, right? Just the rider and the Dragon. Not the entire Northmen army. We can kill it, if we are smart enough.”  
“Foolish.”, Zhoumi spits, but he knows it is futile to try and change his Lords mind. “Luhan. Listen… have you ever heard of someone, who killed a Dragon? This is madness.”  
The Golden Lord only waves a hand at him, frowning. “Our ancestors won a whole war against them. There has to be a way to kill a Dragon.”  
He is already striding past Zhoumi, as straight as he can, but the Commander can see the pain on his face, the way his shoulders go rigid with every step he takes across the chambers and out the door. He winces with every step that puts pressure on his knee and Zhoumi is sure that he watches his Lord walk towards his death. A certain death, that is.   
Zhoumi has stormed into war by this mans side and he won every single battle he ever fought with the Golden Lord - but first and foremost, he watches this man grow up. Zhoumi was the one to dry the boys tears when the children of Suns Keep called him names, when he fell and scraped his knees bloody. He was the one to wrap Luhans small fingers in bandages whenever the Lord trained until his knuckles were bleeding and his hands blistering. Zhoumi did all this, not the King, who was so quick to call himself the father of this magnificent warrior, until the Commander of the Golden Guard had to carry a broken shell back to Brightblade, stitching him back together both physical and mental.   
And he still does, he tells himself while he follows the Lord.   
Sehun, a little voice in the back of his head tells him. It was Sehun, who brought Luhan back to life, not him. Zhoumi failed, on so many different things in Luhans life.   
“Luhan!”, he calls out when he catches up to the other man by the stairs, the Lords eyes flickering up towards him. His hair hands loose around his face where it’s tied messily back on his head and Zhoumi feels his heart stutter with a long lost memory. “Please, don’t do this.”  
“Wake up the ambassadors. We will need Yixings bow.”  
Zhoumi draws a breath and nods slowly, turning on his heel to follow the command.   
Yixing and Tao are already awake, looking ruffled and pale and Zhoumi tells him what he saw, what Luhan ordered him to do. While Tao looks like he wants to object, Yixing lays a hand on his arm and shakes his head softly, eyes soft and sad. He says something in their language, something so soft and gentle, Zhoumi isn’t sure he should be there to witness the scene that unfolds in front of him. Tao opens his mouth and closes it again, does it a couple of times before his shoulders sag and his face grows grim. He nods then, just like Zhoumi did when Luhan ordered him to get the Dunemen, a nod of surrender, nothing more.   
“I will find a bow.”, Yixing tells Zhoumi, voice nothing but a whisper. “Maybe… maybe I can kill the rider. We don’t know if the Dragon will attack us without her command.”  
“It’s worth a try.”, Tao endorses, already pushing past Zhoumi. “I will find the Lord and discuss a strategy. If we are just fast and smart enough, we should be fine.”  
Zhoumi begs to differ, but he keeps his mouth shut, like he did all his life.   
  


It’s hard pushing through the masses of people blindly running from the raging beast that sets the city on fire. They are pushing and pulling, trying not to look back but their minds tell them to keep their eyes on the danger, so they turn their heads and stumble, crashing into the people surrounding them and creating waves of shoving and tugging in the ocean of bodies.   
He runs the opposite way, towards the danger and the flames, nobody even attempting to stop him.   
There are guards fleeing too, soldiers of the Black Legion that were stationed in Blindrun as an outpost. They all flee. But him.   
He pushes on, shoves his way free so he can break away into a small alley, zig-zagging  through the chaos until he stands at the end of one of the bridges, the water under it looking like molten steel.   
The Dragon has moved forward, into the city, breaking wooden roofs and stone walls like they are dried twigs, the sounds of destruction bleeding into each other until he can hear nothing but that.   
His heart is thundering and he isn’t sure if it’s from the running or the panic that rises in his chest when he comes face to face with the massive creature that paints even the sky black.   
He saw it up close only once and his mind was hazy from the explosion of the carriage, but now - it’s a terror he wouldn’t have prayed to witness. It’s thorny, from where he stands. Spikes along its head, growing smaller where they frame the burning eyes and tapering off into fin-like ridges on the back.   
From here, he can’t see the rider on its back, but he can see the way the beast is folding its wings against its body as if it keeps itself ready to take flight any moment. It looks different though, if his eyes aren’t betraying him. Bigger, maybe, but it could be the light.   
And yet the form of the Dragon seems sturdier, the legs shorter and packed with thick, bulging muscles. Zhoumis mind races to procure the memories of the Dragon he saw by the gates of Red River Falls, but whatever memory pushes into his mind, the image in front of him doesn’t seem right.   
The Dragon rears its head just then, opening its massive jaws and breathing fire and even the way its head darts forward as its chest inflates is different.   
“It’s a different one.”, he whispers to himself as he crouches into the shadow of the bridges banister, leaning to the side so he can peek to the other side of the Dragon where he knows ambassador Tao is waiting for the sign. They agreed to luring the Dragon away from the people, away from the main roads where most of the citizens tried to escape from the beasts rage.   
A natural instinct that could be their death. Most certainly will be, if they don’t manage to draw the Dragons attention away from the fleeing masses. He hears a whistling sound, high pitched and loud even above the rumbling of stones and the breaking of wood and he raises his head just quick enough to see the whistling arrow that is no doubt fired by the other Sandland ambassador.   
Trust Luhan to remember the skills of their former enemies.   
The sound doesn’t draw the Dragons attention, but the stone that hits it just above its brow sure does. It hisses like a snake, whipping its head to the side, its left leg stomping into the water and breaking off a part of the wall promenade that runs along the lake. The stone giving way underneath its paw only makes it move a little before it catches itself and its massive tail whips out, barely missing the bridge Zhoumi is hiding on.  He can hear Tao shouting from the other side, knows that this is his sign. As soon as the Dragon moves away from the lake, Zhoumi will move too. It takes some time, the Dragon hissing and spitting, but not breathing fire, unmoving where it stands like a cat ready to pounce on a mouse. 

The Dragon is frozen there, its tail sway back and forth like a pendulum and Zhoumi finds himself entranced by it, eyes following the tip of the tale that threatens to break through the wood of the bridge any second. It’s tapered end is adorned with crystal-like thorns, like a mace that can easily pierce a shield and any armor   
But then suddenly a ripple runs down the beasts spine, a visible quake that has its scales rattling and then it moves, shooting forward like an arrow and into the maze of cities. Zhoumi only hears Tao yell in surprise, the panicked whinny of a horse and then the Dragon crashes into a row of buildings as it scrambles for a hold on the slick, wet cobblestones of the street the ambassador is luring it into.   
He throws himself into action then, sprinting back into the alley he came from and down the narrow, winding streets of Blindrun, catching glimpses of the Dragon on the other side of the main road where it plows through the houses like a sword through wet sand, leaving a swath of destruction in its wake. He finds his horse where he left it, just by the side of the guesthouse, tied to the post and nervously prancing back and forth. He shoots one look upwards, along with a silent prayer as he swings himself up into the saddle and rips the reigns to the side, the horse following willingly.   
The golden cloak he is wearing is like a pair of heavy wings on his back and he curses it for a moment when his sword gets caught in the fabric, pulling him backwards as he tries to duck down low over the neck of the animal, kicking his heels into its flank to will it faster.   
He passes Tao just by the point they estimated, a passage between the main road and the street leading towards the lake where the houses are low and the streets are wider, where the fire hasn’t reached yet. They fly past each other, Tao making a left turn into the shadows of the alleys and Zhoumi towards the Dragon, that roars upon spotting him, its mighty jaws snapping open as if to devour him, just narrowly passing him as he ducks low underneath its neck.   
The beast screeches in protest as its body is shaken by yet another ripple, as if an invisible force is throwing it to the side and into a row of stone buildings that crumble under the weight. 

If only he can lose it in the chaos. 

Left, a narrow right turn, another left.  
He jumps off his horse then, lets it ride on in its panic and throws himself into the entrance of a shack just where the wooden houses start to dot the frozen tundra of the North, the Dragon roaring somewhere in the dark.  “Yixing needs only one clear shot at the rider.”, he announces without turning around to face the blackness of the hut, knowing that Luhan is standing just behind him. “I will lure the Dragon deeper into-”  
“I will do it.”, Luhan says sternly and Zhoumi turns to look at him.   
“No. Your leg.”  
“Screw the leg.”, the Golden Lord hisses and grips Zhoumis upper arm in a hard hold, shaking him.   
“I am the Kings son. The new Kings brother. It is my duty to protect my Kingdom. Who will, if not me?”, he asks, fire in his voice and Zhoumi snarls wordlessly, whirling around and gripping the young Lord by the shoulders, making him face the Commander with wide, startled eyes.   
“You are not!”, he snaps, all restraint breaking under the imminent danger they are facing. Years of holding back fall away from him just like that and he knows he will regret it, will regret breaking his vow and saying those fateful, terrible words. “You are not the Kings son.”  
Luhan stares at him, mouth open and then snapping shut just like the jaws of the Dragon earlier.   
“Your mother and the King were married when you were born, but they were not married when your mother conceived you. Your mother had no love for that man that was sitting on the throne. And neither did I. I only had love for her.”, Zhoumi rambles and he doesn’t notice he is shaking the young Lord until Luhan slaps his hands away, a look of betrayal on his young, oh so beautiful face.   
“You’re lying. You’re just trying to make me stay here.”  
Zhoumi only laughs, bitter and broken. “If only that were true. Why, do you think, did I stay with you all those years? In your childhood and longer? Even after you lost your leg in that cruel war? You set me free and yet I stayed by your side. I am a soldier, Luhan. I live for the war but by your side, I couldn’t. So I started to live for the only other thing I ever knew in my life.”  
Still the Golden Lord glares at him, features drawn in anger and shoulders straight, fists balling by his sides. There are a thousand emotions flickering across his features, but the one that wins over them all is hatred.   
“Even if you are right, I was raised the Golden Lord. And it’s my duty to go out there and protect those people.”, he whispers and then pushes past him. “You are released from your duties, Commander Zhoumi. I no longer need your services. Go back to Brightblade. And never tell anybody what you spoke tonight.”  
It hurts.   
It’s like physical pain, hearing those words again.   
Luhan said them hundreds and hundreds of times when he was strapped to his bed, knee festering and rendering him a cripple until he dies. To set Zhoumi free, to let his Commander go so he wouldn’t see him like this.  But tonight, in a mold-ridden shack that smells like fish intestines and rot, the Golden Lord speaks them in earnest. He speaks them to let Zhoumi go for a different reason and it hurts. 

“Luhan, don’t.”

“I don’t want to hear it, Zhoumi.”, Luhan growls and then pushes past him into the street, limping visibly without his cane. “I am son to the King of a hundred sons.”  
“You were always my son, my Lord. Whenever I dried your tears or brushed blood from your skin, you were mine. Mine and hers.”, Zhoumi answers him slowly as he watches his Lord walk away from him into the night, his form only stopping for a short moment before he rounds the corner.   
“At least-”, Zhoumi starts and runs after him, voice begging. “At least tell Sehun. The guilt of his love for you will be his death. Luhan, please.”  
“Leave me!”, Luhan screams then, whipping around so fast, Zhoumi is reminded of the magnificent way he twirled and danced on the battlefield. And there he stands, the God of Death, rage on his face and hand on the hilt of his sword. “Leave me, before I make you.”  
“I choose where I die.”, Zhoumi only replies sadly, a smile on his face. “You don’t get to do that for me, my Lord.”  
Luhan scoffs and turns away, limping down the alley and towards the lake.    
  


Hate.  
He hates this so much - the pull that runs down his spine and into his limbs, making him move against his will. Sold… he got sold by the man he trusted the most, just because the Lord he served for so long is a coward. He knows it’s a trap, but  _ she  _ doesn’t. If only he can get rid of her, he would be free. To rise up with the wind and be gone, fly again and leave everything behind.   
His loyalty, his blood.   
He roars when something golden catches his eye and he turns at her command, ducking down low as he crawls across the swampy ground that makes mud pool between his claws. He misses the snowy mountains of the North that cool down his scales and his soul, stones under his paws, wind in his wings. There. The connection he has with the woman on his back flares bright with triumph as they spot the Golden Lord by the shore of the lake, standing alone and unarmed.   
It’s so obviously a trap and he gloats with the knowledge of it, knows she can’t feel his own glee that is warming his limbs like nothing else. He will get rid of her.   
“Burn them.”, the voice in his head says and he trembles, struggles against the order she gives him, but the bond that straps him is too strong. He opens his jaws, lets the fire rise from his chest and into his neck, feels the liquid pool around his teeth. Just as he wants to breathe it out, an arrow hits.   
It misses its mark and pierces into the fins on his back and he screeches, wheezes out air and liquid fire that dots the ground like bright burning rain. With a shake of his shoulders he turns his head, rising onto his hinds to spit his fire against the row of houses that lines his right, watching a tiny figure jump to the ground and tumble away.   
Rage.   
It hurts.  
His scales ache with the pain of the arrow that is stuck somewhere at the base of one of his horns, like the sting of a wasp. He wants to shake it off so badly but he can’t - not with her sitting between his shoulders and stopping him from moving an inch.   
A groan, a high wheezing sound rattles past his lips and he hisses when she wills him around once more - hisses at the Golden Lord, who suddenly doesn’t look so brave anymore.   
He wants to bite him into pieces just so this will be over.  Who needs this tiny man? Not him. If he can break apart their carefully crafted plan, he will. 

Kill the Golden Lord. She said burn them all.   
  
So he acts before she can stop him, darting forward with his head turned to the side and his mouth open, ready to rip the tiny human into shreds. The Golden Lord stumbles backwards, staggers and then falls on his crippled leg, screaming out in pain and horror as he watches his death approach him and oh, if only he could laugh in abandon upon his smart, smart decision.  
They would be thankful, if only they knew.   
Even the Lord, who is hiding away in his castle and cage, like the coward he is.  His teeth sink into metal, through leather and skin and into soft, soft flesh that feels warm and delicious between his jaws. He hears him scream, oh so beautifully. There are so many voices screaming, loud in his ears. But she is silent on his back and he wonders why she isn’t punishing him already as he shakes the body between his jaws back and forth, feeling bones and muscles tear and break. He marvels in it. Bathes in the blood that floods his mouth.   
As he is tossing the body away, he freezes. The Golden Lord is still sitting on the ground, screaming at the top of his lungs and there are tears streaming down his face. The wrong one.   
The body lying broken on the ground only a couple of feet away is the wrong one.   
But his body is clad in gold.   
He doesn’t understand.  
Well, he thinks and moves forward, neck already rising with fire. Then another one has to die.   
“No!”, he hears her scream on his back, but he ignores the pain she sends through him like ice, collecting all the spark he has left in his body to burn the damned cripple alive. If it weren’t for him, nothing of this would have happened. Nothing. The pain that hits him on the back isn’t  _ her.  _

It’s something big with claws and teeth that are ripping into his flesh, through his scales and into his wings. He screams. Never before has he felt such agony, not even by the magic she uses to control him. It feels like the  _ thing  _ on him is trying to claw its way into his very soul to rip it out and burn it.  He whips his tail, catches the thing on him on the hind and throws it off, whirling to face the enemy that dared to wound him. Blood is dripping from his side and burns the ground and he inhales it to fuel his rage.   
It gives him pause, what he is facing.   
Black, blue, red.   
Ember eyes in a thorn-crowned face, a mouth dripping with fire as the Dragon snarls at him.   
He has never seen this one before. The touch of his mind against the other is thrown back with a lightning inside his head, like a wall of fire that threatens to swallow him whole.   
A whimper slips past his lips before he can stop himself. It’s not a sound of fear, it’s a sound of confusion and begging. Understanding. Brother, who are you? Where have you been?   
ever before has he seen one of his kind quite like this.   
Its shape is similar to the fledgling he is guarding - slender and yet muscular, with strong hind legs and long, tapered claws, five on each paw. The scales shine and shimmer like ice, black and red in the light of the fire behind the strange Dragon, illuminating its blue markings and blue wings that seem to be made of scales between the leatherskin, as if feathers are protecting the sensitive skin.   
There are no horns on this ones head like there are on his own, just a row of scales and thorns, curling and twisting and growing translucent the longer they are. It’s like he is staring at a painting of the Dragons the humans imagined in their legends, but this one is real and ready to kill him.  
“Go.”, she orders him harshly. “We will not fight this Dragon. We need all of your kind alive. As soon as the Golden Lord is ours, all of you will be ours.”  
He complies.   
When he pushes off the ground, the Dragon doesn’t follow, only watches him with blue fire dripping off of his muzzle like blood, forming a bright puddle under its chin. He knows those eyes. Blue like the morning sky, aflame with knowledge. 


	5. The broken and the lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright ok I know it's been half a year and I know this chapter is FAR from the best I've ever written, but I feel like it's time to finish this story. And let's be honest, if you want to write a fantasy story and have it perfectly paced, you end up being George R.R. Martin. Sobbing over here to be honest. I hope people still like this chapter, because somehow - even if it feels messy to me - I like it. I'll try to pace the remaining chapters more slowly and evenly, I promise! Show some love, a Dragon learns how to fly with every kudo and comment!

Luhan can’t breathe.  
His lungs are tight with sobs that wreck through his body like punches, his chest constricting with each breath he takes and he thinks for a moment, if he even has the right to breathe at all anymore.   
Zhoumi is lying on the ground just a couple of feet away from him, unmoving and broken like a doll thrown into the mud by a petulant child.   
He is the petulant child, Luhan thinks while he pushes himself forward on his arms and knees, screaming silently through the pain that shoots up through his body from his crippled leg. Zhoumi’s eyes are closed, his mouth open just slightly and if it weren’t for the blood dripping down the side of his face and into his hair, he could as well be sleeping. But he isn’t.   
The lower half of his body is torn into shreds from the chest down, the golden cloak he wore around his shoulders dirtied with red and earth. One of his arms is nearly ripped from his body, lying across his chest and Luhan’s fingers tremble as he reaches out to touch his hand - the hand that guided him all his life, raised him into the man he is now. The hand he slapped away just hours earlier, sending him away and off into death. If only their last words to each other were filled with so much anger. 

If only- 

“My Lord.”, Tao’s voice comes from above and Luhan buries his face in Zhoumi’s shoulder, hiding away from the burning world surrounding them. “You have to get up. Please! We have to-”  
“To what?”, Luhan snarls into Zhoumi’s wet cloak, feeling burning tears slip over his cheeks and into the fabric he is pressing his face into. “There is nothing we can do. Have you not seen it? Have you not seen the Dragon? They are too mighty…”  
“Of course they are.”, Yixing’s more gentle voice filters through his feverish thoughts and there is a gentle hand on his neck, stroking through the hair that has fallen out of the high bun he had tied atop his head earlier. It’s soothing and angering him all at the same time. He wants to lash out, scream and kick at them and hold Zhoumi in his arms until they come again to kill him, too.   
“Please.”, Tao tries again. “Yixing has not given up his secret so you can lie in the dirt like that, my Lord. We have to hurry. We have to leave!”  
“I can’t leave him!”, Luhan finally screams, whipping upward so he is pushing his hands onto Zhoumi’s chest, shaking him as if he could wake him up. “I can’t leave him behind like this! Not when-”  
  
Yixing’s hand slaps across his face in a fiery sting. 

He startles, clutches his cheek and stares at the other man with wide eyes, mouth falling open and pain as he sees the fire burning in the man’s eyes. He knows those eyes. He has looked into them for years now, has listened to everything they told him. Luhan himself had stared into eyes just like them while crying bitter tears of loss and goodbye, kissing Sehun for one final, aching time. 

Sehun. 

It could be him, lying there in the mud.   
“You can see it too, can’t you?”, Tao asks him silently, crouching down beside him to cradle Yixing’s nape with one hand, holding him still while the Golden Lord and the sandland warrior stare at each other in silence. “The future those yes can see.”  
“Why are you…”, Luhan starts, tears clogging his voice. “How are you-”  
“Another time, I will tell you.”, Yixing cuts him off almost gently and his hand touches the spot that is burning red in Luhans face where the back of his hand hit him. “For now, my Lord, we have to go. They will return and I can not turn a second time. The power of my blood is not strong enough for a spell like that again.”  
“Are you a Dragon?”, Luhan asks, words steady even while he trembles like a leaf in the winter winds of the sea, fingers curling in Zhoumi’s chest. There is blood under his fingernails and wet flesh touching his wrist from where the Dragon’s fangs have ripped the only man in half who ever loved Luhan like a son. Yixing shakes his head, a smile on his lips that is almost sad.   
“No, I am not. What you just saw… was a gift given to me by someone else. Only once to be used.”

“You could have saved him. You could have saved him! Why didn’t you - why haven’t you-”

“Enough!”, Tao cuts in angrily and Luhan almost fears another slap. “You’re being childish. Be the Lord you were born to be and stand up. Now.”  
He sounds like Sehun, Luhan thinks to himself while he meets Tao’s angry stare, defiant. Who is he to order him around after he lost the only person he trusted with his life for as long as he can remember? How dare he give him commands.   
“Keep your tongue in check.”, he hisses out, spits out onto the ground in front of Tao’s feet. “You’re not the one who just lost their Confidant.”  
“No.”, Tao answers him calmly. “Because I don’t have one. And neither do you. Not anymore. But there are people counting on you, Luhan. Did you leave your lover behind just so you can weep in the dirt now? After Zhoumi sacrificed himself so you can live?”  
The words sting like daggers in his flesh and before he knows it, he has pushed himself to stand, wobbling on the stiff leg that drags through the blood and the wet ground. “How dare you.”  
Tao meets his eyes unafraid, lifting his chin in a silent challenge and if it weren’t for Yixing to step between them, laying a soothing hand onto Tao’s chest, Luhan would have punched him.  
“Please, my Lord.”, the shorter begs again, his voice thick with emotion. “We have to hurry. Zhoumi will have died in vain, if we don’t proceed with our plan.”   
He allows them to drag him away then. Away from Zhoumi’s broken body, from the burning ruins of Blindrun that is nothing but an ashen silhouette against the darkness of the night.   
The gold of Zhoumi’s cloak is mocking him even while he lets Yixing help him climb a lost horse, prancing slowly from side to side, scoffing angrily at the smoke and destruction surrounding them.   
  
He broke his promise. 

And suddenly, with one last lingering look towards the man who raised him, he is glad that he isn’t missing Sehun anymore. He is glad that it’s not him, lying there dead on the ground, even though the thought it bitter and has bile rising in the back of his throat.  As long as Sehun lives through this, he realizes while Tao grabs for the reigns of his horse and steers them both away from the city, he would sacrifice them all. And while Blindrun and its fires vanish into the night, he imagines he can hear his brother calling out his name, desperately. 

 

It’s as if someone is reaching into his chest and ripping his heart out, the moment he stumbles from the debris left behind by the raging Dragon, out of the masses of crying, screaming people and towards the lakes shore, where he saw the beast rising from the earth moments before he dove into the sea of flames that is all that’s left of Blindrun now. It’s as if his body is giving up its service for him, when his eyes find the lone, dead body on the ground, wrapped into a golden cloak.  He stumbles, tears beginning to fall down from his eyes and making his lashes stick together, swaying over to where the man lies surrounded by blue flickering light and puddles of smoldering blood.  The relief that floods him embarrasses him like nothing else when he crashes to his knees by Zhoumi’s side, head tilted back into his neck and eyes closed, thanking whoever God is up there, watching over the man he loves - and yet, he prays to the same God to guide Zhoumi’s soul to the afterlife. He must have sacrificed himself, Sehun thinks with a broken sound that hurts his throat. He struggles to keep the sobs at bay, his shoulders shaking while he reaches out to touch the Commander’s face, sending one last thank at the man, who kept Luhan alive once again.   
His body is still warm, the mud around him still fresh. As are the handprints there. They are still so close, Sehun thinks in shock and jumps to his feet, turning once around himself before he screams Luhans name, voice breaking, into the night.   
“Please.”, he begs silently, hiding his face between his hands when there is no answer. “Please, Gods, help me. Luhan please answer me.”   
But there is no sound aside from the water brushing against the shore of the lake, the crackling of flames behind him, the chaos of Blindrun behind him. He is too late, once again.   
He will always be too late. 

For a moment he is already turning back towards the city - to find a horse, to keep on chasing his brother down - but then his gaze lands on Zhoumi again. The man looks peaceful in death. So much at peace with himself and the world and Sehun thinks that he has never seen him like that ever before. Perhaps the secrets he had to keep all his life will finally be at ease now. And Sehun wishes, even though the thought is cruel, that the burden he carried ever since Luhan lost his ability to fight, will let him rest easily now. He deserves it, Sehun whispers to himself in his mind as he bends down and pushes his arms underneath the other’s body, lifting him easily.  The Commander of the Golden Guard deserves better than to be left behind to rot in the mud. Even if it is just Sehun carrying him over to a stack of hay, laying him down gently and draping his hands over his chest as best as he can, liting the hay on fire and watching it burn with the man who was always a dear ally to him. Zhoumi and all his secrets deserve a proper goodbye.   
And he is sure that one day, if only they survive this, Luhan will have this goodbye too.   
When the falcon above him cries out, the sound piercing through his thoughts, Sehun turns away from the fire. He might have come too late to save them all, but he will not give up now.   
Luhan still has a chance to survive this. And if he fails this mission too, he will gladly die with him.

  
  


The Queen’s scream is so loud, Yifan feels as if it’s rattling his cage. She sounds pained, clawing at her face even while she stumbles out of the broken tower, clad in nothing but a long, white dress. She looks like a ghost, her face as pale as the snow surrounding them.   
“Why do you defy me?”, she screams at him, stumbling over to his cage and gripping the bars between her hands, shaking them. Her beautiful face is twisted in pain and there are long, red tracks down her cheeks from her own fingernails. “Why do you and your kind keep defying me? I am your Queen now! I conquered these lands! The Dragons should be mine!”  
He levels her with a hard stare, breathes out slowly and then smiles, as best as he can with his teeth clattering with the cold and his lips split from how dry his skin is. “You can’t tame Dragons. No magic can tame them. Fire can not be controlled.”  
“Nonsense!”, she spits at him and then she takes as step back, her eyes veiling over with darkness and her face smoothing out into the soft slopes he’s grown used to over these weeks. “You know I can do it. You know what I need. It’s for a good cause, Lord Yifan. I’ve told you-”  
“You came into my land, killing my family and people.”, he cuts her off angrily and rises in the cage, towering so high above her, she has to tilt her head back to look up into his face. “And you expect us to help you? Me, helping you?! After you killed the mother of my children before my very eyes? I curse you and your kin, Queen of nothing.”   
Her jaw sets, working back and forth, her fingers pressing together into a thin, white line.   
“I am sorry about your wife, Black Lord.”, she finally whispers after nothing but the wind howling between them. “And I am sorry I will raise your children in her stead. But I will kill you too, if you can not bring  
those beasts under my control as long as they need to be. Do you want your children to grow up without their father too?”

“They will never see you as their mother.”, he snarls and she smiles at him, so sweetly, so beautifully he thinks his heart might break in his chest. There is just something about her that makes him unable to wish to curl his hands around her neck and choke her until she is dead.  The snow that is gathering in her hair paints a crown onto her head so gently, it makes her seem like a ghost from a dream - so distant and yet the warmth of her body is all too real. She’s not a dream. She’s a nightmare come to destroy his home and land. His people.   
And so they stand there, a Lord and a Queen and the look they share speaks more than a thousand words. There is fear in her eyes where there is hatred in his own. Not even the soft voice of his daughter can rip him out of those thoughts, not the crying of his son on the other side of the courtyard. 

He wishes he could kill her, but a part of him knows he can’t. 

“They are coming to kill me.”, she whispers up at him and she looks nothing like a Queen in that moment, more a broken child than anything. “I can not let that happen. It’s not my destiny to die here in this godforsaken Kingdom.”  
“Then you should have never come here.”, Yifan tells her with a heavy voice and the smile she gives him is nothing but sad. “I didn’t have a choice. You didn’t give me any other choice. This is your doing. All of this, Yifan. If only you’d have answered my calls before… Nothing of this would have happened.”  
And he knows she’s right. And that knowledge almost hurts as much as the sight of the wounded Dragon, calling out from where it’s chained to the tower, head lifting as if to tate the air.   
He’s waiting for something, Yifan can see. Something he doesn’t know.   
And perhaps by now it’s death, he thinks as the Queen turns on her heel and walks away, passing the cage they still keep his children in. His son’s face is swollen from crying, his little hands clutching at the furs his sister has wrapped around him, eyes wide and afraid as he seeks out his father’s gaze.   
  
But Yifan can’t bear to look at him. 

Not anymore. 

Because she is right.    
He brought this over them all. 

  
  


The world as Luhan knows it, is gone.   
He tends to his knee alone, swatting away Yixing’s helping hands when the man offers to assist him. He unwraps his leg alone, frowns down at the bruises alone, bandages it back up all on his own.   
There are no gentle hands helping him, no soothed words and angry reprimands for being reckless with his body again. The world, as Luhan knows it, is dead and gone.   
The bread tastes stale, the water like dust on his tongue and the fire Tao lit in the middle of their little camp, seems to burn not as bright as it normally would. The ice that clings to the North seems to cling to him too, freezing him to the core. He sits there, frozen and stiff, looking into the flames and his fingers feel numb as he lifts the bowl of soup to his lips that Yixing is urging him to drink.   
It warms up his body, but not his mind.   
“I wish.”, he suddenly says and Yixing next to him startles so much, there is hot soup sloshing all over his hands. The man curses silently under his breath, but turns his head to look at Luhan, who is still staring into the flames. “I wish I never decided to fight it.”  
“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”, Yixing tells him silently and the hand he lays on Luhan’s knee would be soothing, if it were Zhoumi’s. “He would have thrown himself in front of you, regardless.”  
“If we… if we would have run.”, Luhan insists, his voice breaking with the tears he isn’t allowing himself to cry. “If I would have listened to him-”  
“We can always sit there, asking ourselves what might have been.”, Tao speaks up from where he is sitting against a knotty tree - one that belongs to the Stone Forest already. “Or we can learn from our mistakes and face the future we are creating with every step we take.”   
He has his arms crossed over his chest, visibly shaking from the cold and only then Luhan realizes that this must be hell for the two Sandland men, who have followed him into this icy land. He dragged Zhoumi out here too.   
He let him die out there.   
“He was my father.”, he breathes out, letting the tears fall that are so desperately trying to break free from his eyes. They hurt, as they roll down his face. “He told me and all I did… all I did was push him away from me because of it. I am not a Prince. I’m a bastard.”  
“You are as much of a Prince as you always have been.”, Tao sighs and sits up a little straighter, seeking his eyes and holding them when Luhan looks up into his face. “It is not the blood in your veins that makes you a Prince, but the love you have for this Kingdom and the people of Yongnian. Does it matter, who your father was? Does it matter, after all the battles you fought and after all the things you sacrificed for the people of this Kingdom? No.”   
“It does.”, Luhan disagrees softly and he feels as if he is looking into Sehun’s face and not Tao’s, eyebrows angrily drawn and mouth set in a grim line. But Tao looks determined, where Sehun always looked guilty, when ever he looked at him with those dark eyes of his. “To my people, it does.”  
“And I tell you, it doesn’t.”, Tao shakes his head and then runs a hand through his hair, mussing it. “You people of Yongnian and your honor, your blood and Princes. No man can have as many sons as your former King supposedly did. Marriage was nothing but a way to further cement his power, I say.”  
While that might be true, Luhan thinks with a grim smile of his own, but what if his brothers hear of that? Would they still view him the same?   
At least tell Sehun about it, Zhoumi said in desperation when Luhan turned his back on him. They are not brothers. And while this knowledge might have had his heart sing any other day, it feels like a burning weight inside his chest now - now that Zhoumi is dead and it’s Luhan’s fault.   
“I will ask you a question now, Golden Lord.”, Yixing says softly by his side and Luhan shifts with him when the man turns to look at him. There is silence between them for a moment, the cracking wood in the fire echoing through the night almost too loudly. “The King was never your father, as much as Zhoumi was. Am I wrong?”  
He doesn’t answer, just looks down at his knee and clenches his fingers in the soft leather of his pants, throat clogged and tongue heavy. Zhoumi was right when he said he stayed with him through all those years. Nobody else did, but the Commander of his Guard, even when Luhan sent him away.   
Even when he told him to leave. The second time the did, Zhoumi sacrificed himself. 

The late King would have never died for one of his sons - not even Minseok, who was his firstborn and heir to the throne he sits on now. There was no love in him for the sons he created.   
“Do you not think that love is stronger than blood?”, Yixing goes on almost too easily and Luhan swallows, closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at his downfall any longer. If only it weren’t for the knee, his crippled body. If only Sehun didn’t make him belief that he was greater than the handicap of his leg. “If it were me… I think I would choose to die for the people I love a thousand times. Even the ones who don’t love me back.”  
Luhan remembers, sitting there in the cold of the night in the middle of the North that is nothing but hostile, how the people around him always thought that way. He remembers Sehun, ripping a goblet out of his hands and pressing it to his own lips to drink the poison that was meant to kill him. And he remembers Jongdae, who nearly died for the sake of their King. All this love, so unconditional.   
He himself feels as if he never gave, but only took. The thought comes sudden and without mercy and he crumbles with it, screwing his eyes shut tighter.   
Did he not ask for Sehun to stay by his side, for Jongdae to go seek Minseok out even when he knew he’d end up dying by the hands of the mad man that replaced their brother? He was the one starting the war against their father, only so he could keep Sehun by his side. All those wars, his fault.   
“Stop pitying yourself.”, Tao snaps from the other side of the fire and his words are so hard, they feel like the slap Yixing gave him by the lake of Blindrun. “That’s not going to help any of us. And Zhoumi didn’t-”

“If you keep bringing his death up to make me feel worthless, I swear to the Gods, I will cut you down!”, Luhan thunders and his voice shrills through the night like a whip crack. “I know he died because of me and for me. Let me mourn, for the love of the Seven Hells!”  
Tao seems to disagree, opening his mouth already, when Yixing silently shakes his head and the other man closes his mouth again, looking off to the side with a scoff.   
Luhan is left sitting there, staring into the fire in silence.   
And while he didn’t think he would ever miss somebody like this in his entire life, all of him just aches for Sehun. For his arms that would hold him so gently, but without being afraid to break him. For his voice, always so hard and distant except for when he was whispering into Luhan’s ear, telling him that in the end, everything will be alright. Oh, how he longs for the Blue Lord to tell him this, right now.   
He looks down at his hand then, at the scar across his wrist where his own knife cut so deeply, he nearly took his own life. The spot where he and Sehun joined their blood as one those years ago. It seems so distant to him now, this memory. How Sehun’s eyes had sparkled in the light of the fire, how he looked at Luhan with those sad, guilty eyes and said: “You don’t even know what this means, you silly Lord. My kind only loves once in their lives.”  
And Luhan laughed at him, shook his head and told him he wasn’t making any sense.   
He regrets that, now. Maybe he shouldn’t have laughed. He should have listened more closely, instead of answering his brother: “Good.”  
Because now, after what he knows - and thinks he knows at least - it doesn’t feel like a joke anymore.   
“He’ll find you.”, Yixing whispers next to him, barely audible over the howling winds that race across the Stone Forest in the distance and the mountains of Ice Reach so close to their touch. Tao doesn’t look up  
from the fire and Luhan is sure, he didn’t hear the other man speak. “They always do.”  
The fire reflecting off of Yixing’s eyes reminds him too much of Sehun and he has to turn away, a bitter taste in his mouth. Part of him wishes he would, the other just wants him to stay away.   
Because right now he isn’t sure if he went on this journey to save his people by sacrificing himself, or if he went to kill the Northman Queen.   
“I know you’re not intending to come back.”, Sehun whispered into his hair that night before he left when he thought Luhan was fast asleep. “And Gods, I wish it were different.”  
Luhan wishes so, too. 

 

“What is our plan, exactly?”, Luhan asks tiredly while he watches Tao and Yixing stretch in the morning light. It’s still so early, the world is still covered in this white sheen that makes everything blur around the edges. Or perhaps it’s Luhan’s own tired mind. “Go in there and kill her just like that? Do you think that will stop them?”  
“The Northmen aren’t so different from our people.”, Tao tells him while helping Yixing wrap a long, woolen scarf around his neck and hair to protect him from the cold. There is a coat of snow muffling the sounds around them and Luhan shivers. “You did that once, to us. It will work with them too.”  
“Because shooting the rider of the Dragon worked so well.”, Luhan mutters and even though his voice is bitter, Yixing laughs silently, shaking his head. “Am I going to be the baid again?”  
“I don’t think that is the right way to approach things. Now.”, the smaller man says, tugging the scarf a little tighter around his neck. “We-”  
“We release my brother first. If we fail, I want him and his children to be safe. The rider said they are still alive and held captive at the castle.”, Luhan decides and Yixing’s mouth closes with a snap.   
Tao looks at him with something close to admiration in his eyes and Luhan meets his eyes unwavering. “If you disagree, I will go alone.”  
“I’m not disagreeing.”, Tao tells him, one hand held up in surrender. “But I think this is the first time I truly saw the Golden Lord. Not a Prince of Yongnian.”

Luhan stares at him in confusion, but Tao stays mum, a secretive smile on his cat like lips.

  
  


Ice Reach sticks out of the ground like the broken tooth of a beast of ancient tales. The walls of the towers are blackened even from a distance and Sehun’s soul feels heavy. It looks like the vision out of his dreams, cold and dead. There is a Dragon sitting atop one of the towers, but its form is smaller than the one that attacked them in Red River Falls. It’s nothing but a hatchling, Sehun realizes with a pang in his chest. So young and fragile, barely able to produce flame, let alone carry a man on its back. It’s a female, he sees even from where he is standing at the mountain’s roots, holding the reigns of his horse tightly in a gloved first. The cold of the North is familiar to him, the chill of it and the bite of the snow against his cheeks and scalp. He is at home here, between the rocks and the snow. 

Barren Hills is not so different after all.

He leaves the horse there, free to roam and run the wilderness without his weight on its back.   
Every creature should be free like that, he thinks while looking up at the Dragon on the tower, caterwauling into the damp daylight. The sun is barely there, shining through the fog of the snow and clouds and it paints the scenery around him nothing but pale white, the Dragon nothing but a mere shadow between all the colorless surroundings. His heart hurts, seeing it like that. Freedom comes with wings and yet this beast’s wings have been clipped. It’s held by invisible chains.   
There are no guards by the gate, broken and splintered, no Northmen on the parapet. The whole castle lies before him silent and dark and like a ghost of ancient times. It’s as if he’s walking back into the nightmare from the night before, when he woke up sweating and screaming.   
“Sehun.”, a startled voice says from the side and he turns his head just enough to look at Yifan, who is slowly getting up from frozen furs, shock written all over his face, hands curling around the iron bars of the cage he’s kept in.   
“No…”, he breathes out then, just loud enough for Sehun to hear. “Why did you come here. Oh, Gods, why? Sehun-”  
“It’s going to be alright.”, Sehun smiles at him, eyes crinkling even when the doors of the tower before them swing open and the Queen reveals herself. Her long black dress billows in the wind of the winter, her hair braided just the same way Sehun saw her in his dream. The crown on her head gleams teasingly at him, as if to remind him of the nightmare once more.   
“You’ve come.”, she says and her voice is nothing but a sigh. “Did you come to kill me?”  
He’s silent for a moment, looking up at the Dragon once more, before his gaze finds hers. She shifts where she stands, her naked shoulders white as snow and her lips as red as blood. 

Terrifying in her beauty. 

“I did not.”, he shakes his head then, hearing the crack of stone by his side where the larger Dragon is slowly climbing the wall, his rider between his shoulders, her bow raised and an arrow aiming for his head. Oh, if only they would shoot him. It would all be easier, if they did.   
“I am here to tell you to leave this Kingdom.”, he adds and the men and women surrounding the Queen laugh, their voices loud in the courtyard. There is molten snow and ash mudding the ground and Sehun wonders, how many of Yifan’s men have died there. Is that the spot they were able to seize his brother? Did they set everything on fire, waiting for him to come out of his home?  
“A single man, telling us to leave. How threatening.”, the rider atop the Dragon gloats and the beast growls at her, turns his head as if to snap her, only to shy away and release a loud, startled yelp.   
They have bound them already, Sehun notices with a grim smile. They could never bind him.   
“He’s not just a man!”, Yifan’s daughter speaks up from her own cage to Sehun’s right, her little voice raising high over the laughter. A true Princess of the Kingdom. A little flower of bride blooms inside Sehun’s chest and he cocks his head, keeps his eyes on the Queen before him. She looks so much like his dream and yet nothing like it. “He’s Lord of the Realm, protector of the Barren Hills!”

“Another one?”, someone whispers and the crowd surrounding him moves. “Another Northern Lord?”

“You are the man from my dream.”, the Queen says, not addressing any of her men and they fall silent in shock. They seem to be used to her vision, Sehun notes absently, what with the way they glance at her and then him again, their hands on their weapons. “You’ve come to kill me. I’ve seen you and your brothers come for my head. I will not die that easily.”  
“I told you already, I am not here to fight.”, Sehun shakes his head again, taking a step forward with his arms spread just a little. “If you leave now, no harm will fall upon you. I promise we will let you leave just like that. Gather your men, board your ships and leave Yongnian for good.”

She laughs then, too. 

Her voice is like a little silver bell and Sehun’s soul feels strung tight.   
“Silly boy.”, a gruff looking man by her side grunts out and Sehun’s smile only widens. “The Princes of Yongnian are truly as foolish and arrogant as they say. Coming to face and entire army on their own. How impudent.”  
But the Queen stops laughing then, her eyes glossing over and her entire face goes slack with the blue flickering in her eyes, the curling of her fingers into her own dress. One of the women standing next to her reaches out, steadying her when she sways and Sehun knows this look.  He knows the overwhelming feeling of visions like this.   
“You’re of my blood.”, he tells her, softly, almost gently and takes yet another step forward. Still, the Northmen don’t attack him and he sighs, drops his hands back to his sides. “You see the other world behind the veil. You see the future in your dreams. You know, I am just like you. We’re of the same blood. I beg you, Queen of the Northmen. Joohyun. Leave this Kingdom and do not return.”  
“I can’t.”, she breathes back at him and then, there is just the slightest motion of her fingers. The men draw her weapons and yet, Sehun still stands unarmed. 

“Sehun, please!”, Yifan yells from his cage, rattling the bars and spitting curses at them. “Please! Go! Go while you still can. They can not gather another one!”

He sees the woman holding the Queen open her hands in his direction, her lips moving in silent prayers and he sees the flicker of light across her palms, just as clearly as he can see his brother standing in the cage only a few feet away from him. Still, he smiles.   
And he sees the Queen looking down at him with confusion written all over her beautiful face, the furrow between her eyebrows and the way her lips are already moving in a command that will bring her men down on Sehun like a thunderstorm. While he stands alone.   
“It’s going to be alright.”, he tells Yifan with a grin that could as well be wicked. “He’s here now.”  
Yifan’s face twists in confusion just like the Queen’s, her eyes growing wide as they hear the shout of another man just by the broken gates of the castle.   
“He’s here now.”, Sehun whispers once more and then, the fire is upon him. 

 

It hurts.    
Nothing in his life has ever hurt like this.   
He watches his skin catch fire, his clothes lighting up like dry lint and within seconds, there is nothing but light surrounding him. Heat so hot, he thinks he’s going to melt from the inside out.   
He was not prepared for pain like this. His mother told him the shift will always hurt more, the larger he gets and yet she never told him he will feel like he is dying. Perhaps the dream was wrong, he thinks almost in a panic, only then hearing his own screams. They mix with the screams of someone else and even in his pain-numbed state, he recognizes the voice as Luhan’s.   
What if the dream was wrong? What if he did the wrong thing and now he is dying in front of the man he loves so much, in front of the man who already saw his Commander dying? 

He can’t do that to him… and yet he already has. 

Somewhere in the chaos of the flames, the roaring of the fire eating him alive, he can hear the Dragons screeching angrily, snapping and screaming for him and then, when he is already falling to his knees in the middle of the snow covered courtyard, he bursts open.  As if someone cut into an overripe fruit, rotten on the inside, he bursts. He explodes from the inside out, yelling in pain as the black ink on his back pushes out of his skin, solidifying until it is streaming over him in a river of darkness. The explosion rips a hole into the middle of the courtyard, blowing stones in every direction. The earth underneath his hands feels cold as he lets himself be swallowed by the swirl of flames and darkness that is still streaming from his back and over his arms. And it’s been so long since he last saw his fingers disappear in the push of black and blue, he feels as if he is seeing it for the first time in his life.  It’s fascinating, in a morbid way. How his skin breaks open, burned to a crisp, giving way to bones and flesh that molds itself back together. Stronger, bigger, still growing.  What must it look like to Luhan, his own voice asks faintly in the back of his head, but it’s drowned out by the roar that bubbles up his throat with a stream of hot, wet blood. It streams from his mouth in an endless stream, setting the ground surrounding him on fire and then, when he thinks he can’t take it anymore, he open his eyes and lets go.

  
  


“Gods, please, no!”, Luhan hears himself scream, just in the moment Yixing rips him to the side and to the ground. He hits his head on the other man’s shoulder, his knee aching in protest at the sudden impact of the ground rushing up to meet him.   
“Luhan!”, Yifan yells his name somewhere behind the fire that was once their brother, flicking high and angrily and he can still hear Sehun screaming, somewhere in side the inferno. “Luhan, let me out! Now!”  
He acts on instinct, climbing across a wheezing Yixing and slips on the snow underneath his feet, melting with the heat of the flames. His mind is numb with pain and loss, his eyes flickering over to the shadow of Sehun’s body, falling to his knees in the middle of the fire, stilling when there is no life left inside of him. And yet, it seems to be enough of a distraction for him to stumble over to Yifan’s cage, who is angrily pulling at the bars, demanding with a loud, booming voice: “‘Break the lock! Luhan, quickly!”   
“There are too many…”, he whispers, even while he is working on the lock, drawing his sword when his frozen fingers won’t function. The metal breaks easily and before he knows it, Yifan is gripping his upper arms, shaking him just as he was shaking the cage’s bars.   
“Listen.”, the younger Lord tells him sternly, grasping his chin between his fingers when Luhan wants to turn his head and look over at where Sehun has fallen. “Get my son and run. Run as fast as you can. Do you hear me, Luhan? Luhan!”  
“Sehun-”, he starts weakly, but Yifan shakes him again, hissing: “You have to go, Luhan. I beg you! Don’t look. Don’t look back at him. Please, please, brother.”  
“No.”, he hears himself whimper, the familiar burn of tears in his eyes. “I can’t- Not after Zhoumi… Yifan I was too late again.”  
“You-”, the other man starts, but whatever he is saying is drowned out by the sound of exploding stone and a bone chilling sound Luhan has never heard before. It’s as if someone punched him in the face with all their might, the air leaving his lungs in a rush and he can’t help but turn to where Sehun’s body is still burning. Should still be burning.   
He hears shouting in a foreign language, Yixing’s and Tao’s voices mixing into the chaos, but he can’t move. He can’t react. Not when there is nothing left of the fire, nothing left of Sehun. They blew him to pieces too small to bury and Luhan feels rage bubbling up inside of him, hotter than anything he ever felt before. They not only killed him, they robbed him of his final goodbye.   
Yifan is still talking, but Luhan brushes off his hands, taking a slow, hesitant step towards the pillar of flames that is now roaring between him and the Northmen, the Dragons on the parapet and the tower screeching. He doesn’t hear any of it, doesn’t hear the desperate calls of his names.   
“Sehun.”, his mind screams at him. Nothing but the name that resonates all through his body with so much longing, he feels as if he might break in two.   
The fire dims, only enough for Luhan to see the Queen pointing at him with a white hand, a Northman drawing his axe and lunging at him with the weapon raised high. He’s just brushing the circle of the explosion and Luhan thinks that perhaps he should let that man kill him. So he can die where Sehun died too. So he could join his lover and Zhoumi in the afterlife. Finally at peace. 

He’s not scared to die anymore. 

The man is so close, he can see the frost in his beard by now, the axe raised above his head for a lethal blow and Luhan spreads his arms, ready for it. Let him die and they will have what they want, right? They wanted him. He’s here now. With Sehun. He can finally be with him, without the world judging him.   
“Do it.”, he mutters to the man, still running towards him. “Do it.”  
The axe comes down, ready to split his skull open. It never comes.  Instead there are mighty jaws snapping shut from above, biting the man in half clean through the middle, a giant head rising with the same inhuman sound from before, shaking twice before the beast throws the torso of the Northman away with a snarl, a hiss following as a rain of arrows ascends on the both of them from the parapet, now filled with people. Luhan ducks on instinct, hands above his head, but the sky turns black and blue before he can close his eyes, a wing folding itself over his head to protect him. He hears the Queen yell in the middle of tall those noises, panicked and scared and the voice of another Dragon joining in on the screeching that feels like nails on stone. 

He’s surrounded by it. By all those sounds. He knows he should be scared for his life, surrounded by Dragons. But he isn’t. He can’t be - not when the Dragon above him turns its head and looks down at him, blue fire dripping from its jaws. No, not its. His.  It’s the Dragon from the lake by Blindrun but at the same time he’s not.   
He’s larger, the fire in his eyes so much more clear and Luhan knows those eyes. He’s looked into them before kissing the boy they belong to, kissing their lids when the other was sleeping.   
“Seh-”  
He’s cut off by the Dragon wincing, screeching in anger when an arrow hits the side of his face. He snaps, turns around himself once without letting Luhan step out of the tight circle of his curled wing, whipping his tail across the mass of advancing Northmen that swarm at them from the tower.  Luhan curses loudly when he’s nearly knocked over, balancing himself with a hand against Sehun’s side, nearly toppling over with the heat streaming off the large body and into his palm, the shock that races up his spine. The scar on his wrist hurts. It hurts so much, Luhan clutches at it, claws at his own skin as if to get it out.   
He’s protecting me, he realizes then when Sehun’s head snaps around once more, breathing fire against the warriors attacking Luhan from behind and without thinking about it, he reaches up and grasps one of the spikes running along the other Prince’s spine, pulling himself up almost too easily.   
There is a dip just between the wings of the beast he is climbing onto, just broad enough for him to sit in and even though his knee is protesting in pain, he folds his legs against the Dragon’s back, holding on as tight as he can when the massive body underneath him suddenly jumps back and spits more fire against the crowd coming for them.   
“Don’t kill them!”, the Queen screams somewhere from above and Luhan turns his head just fast enough to see her sprinting along the parapet. “They are joined already! Don’t kill them! We need them all alive!”

Sehun’s growl races all the way through his limbs, vibrating through him and Luhan gasps, screws his eyes shut and prays he won’t fall off. Sehun will trample him. He will get cut to pieces in the chaos.   
Just then, they spin once more, an angry stream of fire steadily flowing form Sehun’s jaws as he turns around, blowing a hole into the castle’s wall.   
The fire of a Dragon truly is terrible.   
“No!”, the Queen sobs on the parapet, hands pulling at her dress to get her away from the raging Dragon in the courtyard. “You can’t turn on me! You’re mine! You were promised to me!”  
On the wall, Luhan can just make out the tail of the smaller, sturdier Dragon that killed Zhoumi, bucking like an angry horse, its wings emerging into sight and then vanishing again before it rises and jumps onto the wall, throwing itself off of it and into the waiting crowd of warriors, crushing them beneath its massive body. The rider on its back included, who doesn’t even scream before her body cracks open like an egg on the stone beneath.   
“Dragons can not be tamed!”, Yixing’s loud voice echoes over Luhan’s head and the Queen’s head snaps towards the gates, where the man stands, laughing in madness. “You should have listened to him when he told you to leave.”  
“They were promised to me!”, she repeats, voice snapping and Luhan is reminded of the way Minseok talked about the crown that was his birthright, before they lost him. Or did they already lose him back then? There is madness in her words, in the twist of her face. “They belong to me!”  
Sehun answers her with a roar, shaking his body with loudly rattling scales and a whipping tale, one paw punching into the ground and then, everything is silent.  
“I will have them.”, the pale woman whispers then and Luhan sobs, when there is a weight punching into Sehun’s flank, throwing him to the side and they stumble together, Sehun snapping and growling viciously at the smallest Dragon, whose teeth are sinking deeper into his flesh with each turn of his body, desperate to get away.   
He can’t reach it like that, getting ripped apart by the smaller, more sinuous beast that seems intend on eating him alive. And just when Luhan is reaching for his sword, desperate to do something, his body won’t move anymore. Instead his hands are reaching out, brushing over Sehun’s scales that are lining his spine and then they curl around two of his spikes, gripping so tightly, his knuckles are turning white. He is holding on for dear life and he doesn’t even know why.   
“Fight.”, he tells Sehun, even though he is sure the other can’t hear him over his angry snapping and hissing. “Fight. For them. For Zhoumi.”  
And when Sehun spreads his wings, nearly spanning the entire courtyard with their length, Luhan knows he heard him. He heard every single word. As they rise, the smaller Dragon falls away from Sehun’s flank like dead weight, snarling and making to follow them even while Sehun is rising higher and higher, taking Luhan with him. It’s weird, Luhan thinks while looking down at the beast. He should be so scared, still. By everything she saw, by everything that happens.   
But here, on a Dragon’s back, so high up in the air a fall would kill him, he feels just as safe as he does in Sehun’s arms. A different kind of embrace. The scar on his wrist throbs. And as strange as it is, he feels at home up here, even when Sehun roars and meets the other Dragon with open jaws and outstretched claws. This is where he belongs. With his Prince of thorns. 


End file.
